


Pedigree

by Fallingtodream



Series: A domesticated lineage [1]
Category: The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Bottom Clint, Child Abuse, Fenrir - Freeform, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Triggers, Violence, forcible confinement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-24 16:20:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 69,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1611548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallingtodream/pseuds/Fallingtodream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint’s legs start to feel wobbly quickly, his thin frame slowly drooping between the two men.  Theo talks to him, his tone disturbingly soothing. “Easy now, there’s a good dog.  That’s it, just relax, you’ll be home soon.” Clint sinks lower, equilibrium all skewed, he swallows feeling sick, unsure what’s up or down.  His chin drops to his chest, his world narrowing to expensive shoes and grey gravel and Theo’s increasingly dirty slacks. His knee’s give out and he hangs, weirdly weightless. From there it just seems natural to let his eyes drift shut, his thoughts slowing and drifting away to the soft tone of Theo’s voice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. House training

**Author's Note:**

> This is dark and graphic in spots, you've been warned. Now enjoy!!
> 
> By the way, if anyone is interested, I would be delighted if someone could beta for me??  
> I have the sequel half written, and it just takes so long to go through it looking for any typo's and such.  
> Thanks!!!

Chapter 1 of 3

It’s a brisk, early spring evening in an industrial park somewhere in Iowa. The weak sun glints off of the two black sedans with tinted windows parked next to each other. The pristine black paint and chrome rims are faintly covered in a thin layer of dust from the huge vacant parking lot that edges an abandoned textile factory. 

Two serious looking men dressed in non-descript black clothing stand by the driver side door of each vehicle, while the third dressed in business casual stands at the front of one of the sedans. Ten meters away is an old dilapidated blue Toyota where a large man stands with a small boy slightly hunched at his side. 

Clint shivers when the wind picks up, thankful that it’s not continually windy tonight. His eyes dart over to again look at the expensive cars. The three men standing opposite were well dressed and quietly intimidating, not the type Clint was used to seeing and not the type of men who would normally associate with Buck. Something was wrong; the people Buck normally did business with were shifty, dirty men, out to make easy money.

But he stays quiet and still; the strong, bruising grip of Bucks fingers around his wrist keeps him solidly in place. He hadn’t thought it odd when Trick Shot had dragged him out of the tiny trailer he shared with two other circus performers the previous night. Buck was often unpredictable after drinking, and usually if Clint was docile, Buck wouldn’t hurt him too bad. But instead of being shoved around or made to do something demeaning, Buck had thrown him into the trunk of his old Toyota. He’s stiff and sore from being trapped there for so long in the small, cold space in only a t-shirt, pants and shoes. He clenches his jaw together trying to keep his teeth from chattering and drawing more attention to himself.

One of the men walks towards Buck in measured strides, his shiny brown shoes scuffing along the gravel; the dry dust coats the leather in uneven layers of grime. The setting sun behind the stranger makes him seem impossibly tall and imposing. Clint stares, the guy looks like somebody out of a movie, dressed like one of those rich lawyer types or business guys who talks well and make deals in big offices surrounded by windows. 

Mr. Movie looks relatively young with short dark brown hair, brown eyes, sharp nose and is handsome. Mr. Movie stops a couple feet away from Clint, and looks down at him critically with an expression Clint can’t decipher. Clint leans back, trying to put a little more space between them, until Buck meanly squeezes tighter, eliciting a surprised but muttered “fuck” from him and is jerked forward again, closer to the tall man. 

Mr. Movie looks back up to Trick Shot, “Thank you Mr. Chisholm, I believe you’ll be satisfied with your payment. We appreciate your business.” He nods to one of the big men still standing by the black cars, who comes over and passes a plain black duffle bag to Buck.

Mr. Movie smiles at Buck, before clasping a big hand onto Clint’s arm, right beside Bucks overly tight hold. Buck lets go and takes a step back before reaching out and grabbing the duffle bag from the other guy. Clint’s eyes widen, panic starting to sweep through is chest, change is never good for him.

Clint leans his body away from the stranger, reminding himself not to struggle, he’s pretty sure that’s not a good idea yet.

Mr. Movie tightens his hold on the Clint’s wrist, and pulls the youth closer to his side, his brown eyes are unnervingly intense as they stare at him. Clint tenses as he stumbles closer, he doesn’t know what’s going on, but he’s smart enough to figure out that Buck just fucked him over. It shouldn’t really surprise him, but it still hurts. That’s three people now, who’ve thrown him away. And even though it’s a back-stabbing asshole like Buck, the sting of rejection hasn’t lessened any. He should have left the circus as soon as he was able to walk again.

Blubbering like a baby is only going to embarrass the shit out of him. So he clenches his jaw tight and tries to collect himself, tries to look like his brother when Barney was pissed about something. He stands straighter, scrunches his eyes so he’s glaring instead of looking like prey. He doesn’t say anything, mostly because he doesn’t know what to say and partly because being mouthy usually ends with him being slapped. Mr. Movie’s lips quirk, like he’s amused before he looks back towards Buck.

Trick Shot pulls the strap of the duffle bag containing his money over his right shoulder. “Yeah it’s real good, you let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you. I’ll do anything for the right price.” He takes one last look at Clint before he turns around and gets into his car and drives away.

Clint looks up at Mr. Movie, now that he’s alone he feels smaller, more vulnerable. The chill in the air has the skin on his arms pebbled in goose flesh. His mouth is dry from thirst and nerves, and he’s aware that he’s already forgotten to look tough, fear has stamped itself across his face again.

The man looks down at him, “I’m Theo, you’ll address me as Mr. Theo. We have a long ways to go until we get you home to Mr. Drummel. But Since I’m a good guy, I’m gonna help you out today.” Theo pauses, a smile playing across his lips as he stares down at Mr. Drummel’s newest acquisition. The boy is slight and short and looking up at Theo with uncertain, blue eyes. 

Clint’s aware of the two other men, but he’s utterly unsure of what to do. So he stands there frozen, watching as one of the two guys, the big, muscled blond one, who handed over the duffle bag, grabs his free arm tightly above the elbow. Clint looks up at the blond apprehensively. 

The blond looks back with a curious but stern expression, while reaching into his back pocket and taking out a hypodermic needle. 

Clint startles, jerking back an inch, not able to budge the impossibly strong hold both men have on him, and that causes the panic to break apart inside him, and he struggles wildly. “Wait!” He cries. “What are you doing! Please, wait, wait! You don’t have to do this, please!”

The big blond calmly lifts the syringe to his mouth, biting the lid off the needle tip and spits the cap to the ground. Without pausing he deftly stabs the needle into the meat of Clint’s shoulder, quickly plunging the clear liquid inside which burns as it spreads deep into the tissue. The needle is withdrawn and carelessly tossed onto the gravel, the setting sunlight glints off the plastic.

Clint’s eyes widen in disbelief, voice wavering as pleads “No, no, no, no...fuck..please, what...what w..wasss that?” His tongue is already starting to feel thick, slurring his words.

Theo’s voice catches Clint’s attention again. “Like I said, I’m going to make this trip real easy for you.”

Clint’s legs start to feel wobbly quickly, his thin frame slowly drooping between the two men. Theo talks to him, his tone disturbingly soothing. “Easy now, there’s a good dog. That’s it, just relax, you’ll be home soon.” Clint sinks lower, equilibrium all skewed, he swallows feeling sick, unsure what’s up or down. His chin drops to his chest, his world narrowing to expensive shoes and grey gravel and Theo’s increasingly dirty slacks. His knee’s give out and he hangs, weirdly weightless. From there it just seems natural to let his eyes drift shut, his thoughts slowing and drifting away to the soft tone of Theo’s voice.

 

Clint wakes slowly, confused, thirsty and with a pounding headache. He’s laying on his side, eyes open, trying to figure out where he is because the semi dark room and certainly the cage he’s currently in are unfamiliar to him. And while a cage or waking up disoriented might not be out of the norm, the clean, expensive and expansive room is. From what he can see, the curtained windows are huge. This is not a room Duquesne or Buck could afford. Buck....and it all comes back to him. 

He breathes in slowly, tasting the air, and strains to listen, relaxing slightly when he’s sure the room is empty. It smells of wood, factory new carpet and is quiet, except for the ticking of a clock somewhere across the room. Clint shifts in degrees, his limbs are stiff and slow to respond, until he’s sitting. The cage is small, compared to the ones that were at the circus for the tigers and other animals. The bottom, inside of the cage is a solid steel, removable pan with a one inch raised lip. He can sit up comfortably, but there’s only about an inch of space between his head and the top of it, he figures it’s about four feet long by two feet wide, roughly. He glances down and spots a dish of water....a dog’s water dish. He’s sitting in a large, very solid looking dog kennel.

His heart begins to thump in his chest, his mouth gets even drier and his headache only gets worse. He brings his knees up to his chest, and tries to force himself to calm down. Deny it, that’s what he’s done before, and if he sticks to it, they can’t prove anything. He sits there like that, tense and hurting until his limbs begin to stiffen up again. He sits until he’s uncomfortable and both the headache and his thirst increases. He sit’s like that until he decides he’s being an idiot and leans forward to grasp the dish of water in both hands and brings it to his lips, taking large gulps of the room temperature water. And of course, that’s when he hears noise coming from outside of the room.

There’s the sound of footsteps and then metal sliding on metal, a lock being turned, and then the door at the far end of the room swings open. The sudden light that’s flicked on causes Clint to squint; he lowers the half empty dish to the floor so he can shield his eyes from the glare of the over head lights. The man that walks into the room is tall and handsome with black hair that’s starting to grey at the temples. He’s well dressed, wearing a cream dress shirt with no tie, and black slacks. Clint thinks the guy looks like someone who should be in one of those watch ads in magazines. A few steps behind him is Theo, who stops and closes the door.

The older man tsks, “That’s not how you’re to drink out of your bowl Puppy, not when you’re in your kennel. Bad Dog.” The tone is playful. The Man smiles as he walks closer, stopping when he’s a few feet away. 

Still shielding his eyes, Clint curls his knees to his chest again and glares, channelling Barney again, he says “This is a shitty, twisted game and it’s illegal. ”

The man just looks at him, a slight frown forming on his face. “He’s kind of small for his age, isn’t he?”

Theo walks up to stand beside Mr. Magazine, arms crossed over his chest. “He’s only fifteen Mr. Drummel; he should grow and fill out. His other form might be larger too.”

Drummel narrows his eyes at Clint. “He better, I won’t keep the runt of the litter around. It would be embarrassing.”

Clint keeps glaring but drops his hand, his mouth has gone dry again, and he doesn’t know what to say or do, and hopes he looks angry instead of scared. 

Drummel sighs, “Clean him up, get some weight on him and start his training. I’ll be back in a week.” Drummel kicks the kennel. “And Puppy, I expect to see you in your other form when I get back.”

Clint tries to look confused, but isn’t sure if he’s pulling the look off. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re both talking about...this shits crazy. You’ve both watched too many movies.” He looks at both of them, but neither look moved by his ignorance, and changes tactics. “You can’t keep people locked up in cages! But if you let me go, I won’t tell anybody about this, I swear!” 

Drummel looks over to Theo. “Take him to our Northern Colorado Facility to meet Fox, while I’m gone.” He turns back to Clint, his tone this time more stern than playful. “And we’ll have a chat about talking out of turn next week too.” 

Theo looks at his watch. “You need to sign those papers soon.”

Drummel nods, still looking at Clint. “Have Stacey gather all that stuff up and bring it with her, I’ll do it on the plane today.” 

Theo turns and walks to the door, opens it and waits for Drummel to walk through before closing it behind him. Clint takes the reprieve to try and calm down, and look for a way out of the cage. His fingers slide along the corner joints, the floor and finally the door, which he grasps to push and pull on, but it doesn’t even rattle. There’s nothing in the cage besides his water dish. He slides to the back, leans against the bars and takes another look around the room, now that there’s light. The furnishings are all dark and look like something he’s seen in a few of the discarded magazines he’s flipped through at the Circus when he was bored. On the far side of the room by the door is a large fire place, facing it are two cozy recliners and a plush cream colored rug. A dark wood desk at the side of the room, with nothing on the surface, stands under one of the big windows, which are covered by heavy curtains that block out most of the light. The room itself is bigger than any Clint has ever been in; he thinks maybe two to three of the circus elephants could comfortably move around in here. The rest of the room, the end he’s sitting in, is empty, just dark hardwood floors and his cage. He wonders if this is normal for rich people, because there’s no doubt that Drummel is wealthy, if the room and the previous conversation is anything to go by.

Hours go by, Clint knows, he can see the wall mounted clock to the left of the fire place. Worry has slowly morphed into irritation, he’s tired of sitting, his muscles are achy and on top of that, he’s regretting drinking so much water earlier. He lies back down on the steel floor, and tries to relax, to hopefully drift into sleep. He lies there for a while not quite sleeping, but in that in-between stage until the pressure in his bladder wakes him fully. His eyes dart to the clock, eleven o’clock in the evening, three more hours have passed. If somebody doesn’t come soon, Clint’s pretty sure he’s going to piss himself.

“Hey!” He yells, and then listens for movement outside the door. “Hello. . . .Hey, unless you want a mess on the floor...” He’s not sure how to end that, should he demand to be let out, or threaten to piss all over the floor? 

Actually, it would be pretty easy to pee outside of his cage; it really wasn’t a bad idea. His hands are at the button of his jeans when he hears footsteps and the door click open, Theo walks in and heads towards him.

“What’s the matter Pup?” Theo stands in front of the kennel with his arms loosely crossed looking down at Clint.

“I have to pee.” Clint means it to sound more like a demand, but it comes off sounding more like a plea.

“Oh? And what am I to do about that?” Theo looks amused.

“Ah, let me out of here and show me where the bathroom is?” Clint’s uncertain and it comes across in his voice.

“Why” Theo asks. 

“Because..I have to piss?...or I’m going to pee on the floor.” Clint feels like he’s missing something.

“So. It doesn’t bother me if you sit in your own waste.” Theo shifts slightly, looking bored.

Clint’s angered by that, what is with people and being complete dicks to him. “I’ll pee on the floor outside of this cage.”

Theo’s voice has a hard edge to it as he replies, “Kennel, it’s your kennel. And that wouldn’t be advisable; you’d regret that more than if you pissed all over yourself.” 

Clint’s trying not to move too much, his bladder is so full and he’s already past desperate. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” He knows he’s losing this game, whatever it is.

Theo replies, “I’m not expecting you to say anything; I want you to learn that you have no say in what happens to you. You don’t get to decide when you pee, or eat or talk and definitely when you change forms.”

Clint’s shoulders sag with defeat, and he drops his gaze to Theo’s shiny black shoes. “You’re not going to let me out to pee are you?”

Theo smiles and says, “No Pup, and you better not make a mess outside of your kennel.” 

Clint doesn’t look up but watches Theo’s shoes turn and stride away to the door, pause at what he assumes is the light switch because a moment later the room’s dark again, and then the door closes. It’s an awful feeling to be denied everything and to have nothing. It’s not a new feeling, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt as bad, doesn’t make his eyes sting with unshed tears, or make that horrible hollow weight in his chest hurt any less.

Clint has enough self preservation to heed Theo’s warning, and moves to the back of the cage, opens his pants and pulls his dick out to pee onto the steel floor of his kennel. It’s such a relief, but it almost hurts he’s held it so long. He closes his eyes hard, tells himself he doesn’t care about what he’s doing. That is, until wetness soaks into the knees of his jeans. Clint opens his eyes, and shimmies back a few inches, shakes off and tucks himself back into his pants. His kennel doesn’t seem so large anymore, with the wide puddle of urine taking up nearly half his space. He pushes back until he’s resting against the door, and sits cross legged, he doesn’t want the soaked knees of his pants near his face. He scrunches his nose at the acrid smell of it, he lets out a hallow sigh, because there’s nothing to be done about it. 

Morning light peeks out from around the edges of the curtains, but Clint refuses to turn around and look at the clock. He figures nobody will come until morning and he doesn’t want to be disappointed if he turns to look and it’s only five am. Clint’s hoping Theo will come in the morning, hoping his jailer doesn’t leave him alone in this small, uncomfortable and defiled cage all day. The scent of urine permeates his nostrils, and he’s even more cramped then before, with only having half the kennel now. His stomach clenches almost painfully in hunger and worst of all, he’s thirsty again. 

Theo enters the room at noon carrying a leather leash and collar. He flicks the light switch and goes straight to the curtains, pulling them to the side and pushing the far window open a few inches. He turns and walks over to the kennel, where Clint is huddled, looking up at him.

Theo shakes his head, and says, “Good puppies don’t pee in their kennels. However, I’m pleased it’s not on the hardwood.” Theo pulls a small set of keys out of his pants pocket and crouches down to unlock the kennel door. “Lower your head so I can put your collar on, or you’ll stay in this kennel until I decide to come back.”

Clint’s already on his knees sitting, and frowns, staring at the collar in Theo’s hand. He knew what was going to happen when Theo walked in with it, and the alternative to wearing it is unthinkable right now. So he moves forward to the open door, setting his hands on the hardwood floor just outside of his kennel and bows his head, telling himself that it’s not that bad, it’s a small price to pay to get out of the kennel. There’s a moment of nothing, and then the cool touch of leather circling his neck with brief warm, dry touches of Theo’s fingers as the collar is snuggly secured. The snap of the leather lead attaching to the ring on the collar sounds loud to his ears.

“Good Pup. Now come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” Theo takes two steps backward and waits for Clint to climb all the way through the metal door. Clint’s in the process of standing up, when there’s a sharp snap of the leash, the collar digging painfully into the back of his neck and jerking him forward, unbalancing him to fall back down onto his hands and knees. Theo’s voice is chastening. “No, you’ll stay on all fours until I tell you otherwise.”

Clint tilts his head so he can look up at Theo. “Seriously?” He asks. He’s desperate to stretch out his legs. “This is messed up.” 

“Why?” Theo looks down calmly.

Clint’s looks up, eyebrows scrunched together, glaring. “Because this puppy bullshit is weird, and I’ve seen a lot of weird shit living with the Circus.” Clint tries to sit back on his calves, but is jerked forward again to land back on his hands. He’s cringing as he realizes he might have gone to far, argued too much.

Theo looks put upon, but replies calmly, “I’m going to show you something today, and it’s going to be an eye opener for you. And then I’m going to give you a choice of how we’re going to proceed. But I’m not going to make you decide right away, I’m going to give you the entire night to mull things over.“ Theo turns, tugging on Clint’s leash and walks at a sedate pace, slow enough for Clint to crawl beside him.

Clint follows behind Theo’s feet, relieved to have escaped further punishment. The hardwood is unforgiving on his knees and he tries to alter his pace and movement to minimize the discomfort. Crawling on the floor sucked. He only looked up far enough to see the back of Theo’s shoes, it was probably better this way, he could pretend that his world was only as big as what he saw in front of him.

They walk down a hall a short ways until they come to the first door on the left. Theo opened it and inside is the largest, cleanest bathroom Clint has ever seen. Tiled grey floor scrubbed so clean it reflected the light, a bathtub to the left, with double sinks nestled into a long counter and an equally long mirror above it. A huge glass shower stall that took up half the room to the right and at the end is an opaque glass door where Clint assumes the toilet is hidden behind. 

Theo stops and looks at Clint. “Stand, strip and step into the shower stall.” 

Clint stands up, rubs his right knee, then looks at Theo, who’s just standing there staring at him, and mutters, “Uh....” He’s flustered, it’s not a big deal, really, and it’s not the first time he’s had to strip down in front of someone. But things suddenly feel more real, and he’s very aware that he’s alone with a man twice his size, in a house where he will probably fail at getting out of quick enough, before getting caught. And the repercussions of that are probably something he doesn’t want to experience. Sighing, he tells himself its no big deal and grabs the hem of his shirt and tugs it off, it hangs off the leash a moment before Theo pulls it off and drops it to the floor. Clint toes off his shoes, socks and shimmies out of his jeans and underwear; and walks into the shower. The smell of clean soap and cleaning product still clinging to the walls and glass is marred by the smell of his own pee and sweat.

Theo clips Clint’s leash to a metal lock attached to a rung bolted into the wall about five feet up from the floor. Theo says, “Wash.” Then goes and sits on the counter, picking up a magazine to the right of the second sink and starts flipping through pages, appearing completely uninterested in Clint.

Clint turns on the water and smiles, it’s amazing, the water heats to temperature quickly and the shower head is one of those super wide stainless steel jobs that have multiple settings and perfect water pressure. This is the best shower he’s ever been in, he grabs for the soap eager to get clean; being kidnapped by rich people had its perks. The soap smells great, and the Shampoo smells of herbal shit that Clint would probably never be able to afford. He stands there under the spray, enjoying the heat for a moment before tensing again, knowing this is going to end far too soon.

A short knock at the door startles him and he looks over to see Theo slip off the counter and walk over to the door, opening it and grabbing a bundle of cloths from somebody Clint can’t see.

Theo looks over at Clint, “You’re done, dry off and get dressed.” Theo grabs a towel off the towel bar attached to the wall, and holds it out to Clint, who takes it and starts drying himself off. Theo drops the bundle of cloths on the floor beside the stall door and goes back over to sit on the counter again with his magiazine.

Clint dries as quickly as possible then bends down to the pile of cloths and pulls on the new pair of boxers, Jeans, socks and shoes, stopping at the black shirt and hoodie. “Uh, I’m still hooked to the wall.” He says, the shirt dangling from his hand.

Theo walks over, leans past Clint and unclips the leash from the shower wall. Theo smells of nutmeg and coffee with an undertone of something woodsy, different than yesterday. He takes the shirt and hoodie from Clint, and feeds the wet leather leash through the cloths, leaving them to hang there.

Clint grabs the shirt and hoodie and pushes his arms through the fabric first then pulls them over his head. They smell of detergent and are soft against his skin.

Theo straightens his own tailored grey dress shirt before saying, “You can walk upright with me to the car; you’ll follow beside me and a step behind and to my left.” He doesn’t wait for an acknowledgement, just starts walking out the door and down the hall.

Clint turns to follow, a couple steps behind and to the left, he really doesn’t want to be that close to Theo. They make it a few feet down the hall, back the way they came, before Theo suddenly jerks the leash forward with his right hand, and then snaps his elbow quickly back and down, catching Clint solidly in the solar plexus. Stunned and robbed of breath, Clint curls both arms around his chest and hunches over, stumbling for balance. Theo grabs Clint around the throat tightly, snapping his knee up to land solidly into Clint’s stomach and then roughly throws him to the ground by the throat. Theo drops down to land on top of Clint, kneeling heavily on his chest.

Theo sounds vexed, but not out of breath, “Now Pup, I said one step behind, not two or three. You understand?” His voice never rises above a normal talking volume, still spoken calmly.

Clint stares back with wide, shocked eyes and nods, still struggling to breathe. 

Theo nods, “Good, now let’s go, I want to avoid rush hour traffic.” He stands up, looking impatient.

Clint’s breaths are hitched and unsteady as he climbs stiffly back to his feet and follows Theo the rest of the way to the garage exactly one step behind. He’s tense and wary now, arms wrapped tightly around his tender chest. His neck aches along with tender muscles of his stomach. The car they take is a black limousine with tinted black windows. The chauffeur is already in the driver’s seat, and the partition between the driver and passengers section is up and also tinted black.

Theo sits facing towards the back of the car, and grabs the newspaper folded up on the seat beside him, he looks up and says, “Sit and be quiet, it’s a bit of a drive to our destination.”

Clint sits nervously with his hands between his knees, eyes straying to the latch on the door, and then to the end of the leash wrapped around Theo’s arm. He can’t help flinching when ever Theo’s hand moves to turn a page. The sudden viciousness of Theo’s attack still has him stunned. He’s never met anyone like Theo before; most of the men in his life have been loud, boisterous and mean, but he usually had a pretty good idea when the violence was going to happen. He half watches the scenery speed pass through the window, it looks very different than Iowa; he’s never been this far west before. 

Time passes and the car slows as they drive down a long, narrow road up to a tall chain link fence with barbed wire strung along the top. There’s a small booth manned by two guards who walk up to the driver and then step back a moment later. The Gates slowly open, sliding back along the fence. The area is secluded, hemmed in by trees and uninhabited land. The industrial, two story building the car drives towards is very large with a white wash exterior, the only visible windows line the second floor. The main door looks to be steel, but the appearance is made softer by the large potted trees that line the overhang walkway and the well manicured lawn surrounding it. 

The car pulls right up to the end of the walkway, bricked with grey slabs of varying sizes, it’s very aesthetically pleasing and doesn’t really match the structure of the building, it looks more like an afterthought to pretty it up.

Clint sighs, shoulders slumping as he thinks about the now locked gate behind them, and the imposing fence which must run the entire length of the grounds. 

Theo folds the newspaper up, places it back on the seat and then waits for his door to be opened by the driver. Clint internally scoffs at the laziness of rich people. Theo tugs the leash for Clint to follow. Clint cringes, eyes darting beneath long bangs at the stranger holding open the door before ducking his head to stare at the smooth leather of the car seats. Embarrassment flushes his cheeks a warm pink, the collar around his neck feels bigger now, eye catching in its boldness. Is this normal for these people? Would somebody say something? He can’t bring himself to look up and check, maybe knowing is worse.

They walk up to the front door, which is again, opened for them, and into the building. The front lobby is plain, but very clean, with a security guard manning the front desk. The guard looks up and nods his head, then goes back to looking at his computer screens. Clint’s shoulders creep up towards his ears, that can’t be good, the complete lack acknowledgement. They walk to the left and past the guard desk to a solid metal door, where Theo swipes a card key and presses his thumb to a small square of glass, which glows green a moment later. 

He’s starting to feel like he’s in one of those spy movies he’s seen, with all the high tech gadgetry. He follows Theo exactly how he’s supposed to, mindful of his position as they walk down a hall with a few more metal doors on either side; the numbers on them are the only distinguishing feature. Theo stops at the door at the end of the hall, again only labeled with a number, swipes his card key and presses his thumb onto another small square that lights up.

Theo pushes the door open, and they pass into a very short hall that ends in yet another locked door, with another swipe and thumb scan but this one has a window near the top. Clint’s too short to see through it, but when the door opens with a soft swoosh of air the smell hits Clint immediately. It smells of antiseptic, dog, sweat, and various other things Clint has no reference for but makes him scrunch his nose up in distaste.

Theo stops just inside the room, looks around and then down at Clint, letting the youth take in his surroundings. 

Clint’s eyes widen with the rush of fear that makes his skin tingle, this is so far out of his depth of knowledge. The room is very bright and white, clinical with its stainless steel tables dominating the centre, lab equipment and machines filling up the other available area. The far wall, directly across from the door, is half glass from midway to ceiling, and Clint can see a couple men moving about in white coats in the next room. At that end of the room on the right side lining the wall are four stainless steel cages, all four sit on the ground. They resemble the kennel he was stuck in earlier at Drummel’s’ house, but taller, longer and sturdier. 

The cage on the far left is occupied by a huge, mangy looking white wolf that’s lying at the back with its chin resting on one paw. Small shaved patches of varying length dot its hide, it’s shoulder looks misshapen at first, but upon closer look, Clint realizes, the wolf is missing one of its front legs. It’s not obvious at first glance with the way the wolf is laying hunkered down. Clint stares, but the wolf’s whole being is of apathy, it doesn’t look up at him, not a muscle twitches in movement. This is an animal waiting for death. That’s the moment Clint’s heart starts to pound, was this going to be him next?

Theo smiles as he watches the Pup’s face quickly turn to fear. He tugs the leash, pulling a hesitant Clint towards the cage with the white wolf, until they’re both standing in front of it.

Theo’s voice sounds overly loud in the lab to Clint’s delicate ears. “Let me tell you a story Pup. The Drummel’s have always been wealthy. Drummel’s Father collected rare, exotic things; his favorite was a big black Wolf. Doesn’t seem so exotic, but this Wolf was unlike any other animal and it never left his side, it lived longer than any natural canine should. The Wolf was his trademark, and became the company logo. Years later when Drummel was older, his Father told him exactly why his wolf was so rare, about the myths and legends about your breed Pup. And like all sons who grow up to admire their fathers, Harvey Drummel searched for his own rare beast, his own Fenrir; Werewolf to the uneducated.” 

Theo pointed to the cage with the white wolf. “This here is Fox. Fox has been with Drummel for the last seven years, six of which have been spent here, is this room. Unfortunately, Fox was already a mature specimen when captured and training just didn’t stick. But Fox’s retirement furthered Drummel’s R&D department, and the knowledge we have gained from him here, has been vastly helpful to furthering Drummel’s company and products. And you Clint were a very special acquisition. To find you at such an early age, and an orphan, was a very fortunate discovery.”

Theo looks down at Clint again, who’s shaking his head. “I know you’re Fenrir Clint, a wolf, your blood test proves it, there’s no point in denying it. This trip to meet Fox, has been for your education. I want you to be very clear on what happens to bad Wolves. Fox has been in that cage for six years, even though Drummel wanted him at his side very, very much.”

Clint looks around him at the lab, then back to the pathetic creature in the cage before him. He vaguely remembers watching a movie with Barney when he was younger at the orphanage. It had something to do with two dogs that’d been lab experiments and how they were beyond fucked up by the time they escaped. He remembers being angry and sad. And now he’s standing in a lab, with so many unfamiliar things in it, and at a wolf with only three legs. How was his life turning into some fucked up fictional movie? He didn’t want to end up here.

Clint’s voice is soft and low when he asks, “What happened to his leg?” 

Theo frowns. “An unfortunate.... accident with Drummel, which ultimately led to Fox’s retirement. Drummel has a nasty temper on occasion. On a brighter note, it answered many questions in regards to your breed’s regenerative properties.”

Clint hunches his shoulders and wraps his arms around himself. “I’m sure Fox was thrilled.”

Theo tugs the leash just enough to get the youths attention. “I want to be clear that we’re through with you denying what you are, or I can leave you here for a while until you have a positive answer for me.”

Clint looks up at Theo, the smell of the lab is awful and strong, the shine off of the metal tables too bright, and sight of Fox who’s truly given up on life is heartbreaking. He desperately wants to leave, fuck living life like a movie. “Uh, yeah, it’s clear, I mean, I understand”

Theo nods. “Good.”

Clint pauses, “Wait, what do you mean blood test? When did you...before I woke up?” That didn’t make sense, did it? Why take him before they knew what he was? “Or, or before Trick Shot turned me over to you?”

The look Theo gives Clint when he looks down at him is oddly self satisfied, before nonchalantly turning and tugging on the leash. “Come along Pup, time to go Home.” 

 

They return to Drummel’s mansion sometime mid-evening. 

The house seems quiet to Clint, he’s expecting to see people waiting around to open doors for Theo, but they encounter no one when they stop in a huge, dimly lit kitchen. Theo leads him to the dining table and tells him sit, which he does, sliding onto the chair, hands in his lap. The leash is clipped to a rung under the table, the latch clicking softly in the quiet of the room. Clint’s stomach growls and clenches in hunger, his mouth is parched from thirst and his body feels wrung out, too tired to think or move. The fact that Theo has his back turned and the leash is only clipped to the table, seems too risky an escape attempt. Definitely too much running, and the thought of Fox wilting away in cages too clean and shiny is burned into his mind.

Theo rummages in the big stainless steel fridge across the room, pulling out plastic wrapped food. He turns and grabs a few plates stacked on top of each other from a cupboard and a jug of water from the counter. He carries the items to the island counter in the middle of the kitchen, where pots and pans hang from hooks in the lowered ceiling, and puts together two sandwiches. He brings the food over, then goes back to pour two glasses of water, and sits at the table across from Clint.

Theo pushes one of the plates over to Clint, two fingers stay on the plate as he looks at him. “When you’re in human form, you will eat at a table with manners, unless otherwise told different. Understand?”

Clint wets his lips and nods slowly. The smell of food is amazing, fresh tomato, sharp tangy cheese, and salty ham makes his stomach clench in want. 

“Good. Go on, eat.” Theo releases his hold on the plate and reaches for his own sandwich. 

They eat in silence. Clint makes sure to eat slowly, trying to remember everything he’s heard in passing about table manners. He’s had enough abuse today and if Theo takes away the sandwich or water, he might literally break down into tears.

Afterwards Clint is lead to the bathroom, and then back to his Kennel, which thankfully, has been cleaned. Theo opens the kennel door, snaps his fingers and points to the floor. Clint frowns, annoyed but smoothly drops to the floor to his hands and knees to crawl back inside.

Theo says, “Eventually, when you’ve behaved and have been retired to your room in human form, you will be allowed to use the bed to sleep. But that’s a privilege Pup. “ He unclips the leash from Clint’s collar and closes and locks the door. “ I’ll be back tomorrow morning; we’ll evaluate your schedule then.”

Clint watches Theo leave, turning the lights off and closing the door behind him. But the drapes have been left open, and Clint’s thankful for the moonlight, it’s not as dark as it was the night before. He looks around again, wondering about the bed comment, would they eventually move a bed in here, was this his room, or would he be moved to another room. How many rooms did this house have? And holyshit, was he seriously contemplating his future here? Would he even be able to escape, and if he did, where would he go? He lies down on his side, pillows his head on his arm and tucks his knees to his chest. His new hoodie is warm and soft. His belly is uncomfortably full, but he’s still terribly thirsty, he didn’t want to drink too much for fear of having to pee tonight. He tries to remember the taste of sour candies on his tongue, the memory makes is mouth water, he holds the spit in his mouth, it helps a bit. 

Morning comes slowly, but fortunately Theo arrives early. 

He walks into the room carrying a thick black leather collar, and the same leash from yesterday. Clint is sitting cross legged waiting in the middle of his kennel. He’s huddled in the hoodie. He didn’t sleep well again, between the poor sleep and the stress of the last few days, he’s tired and wary. He doesn’t know what today will entail, everything since being handed over to Theo has been strange and over whelming.

Theo unlocks the kennel door and motions for Clint to climb out and stand up, then unclasps the collar around Clint’s neck. “Undress and shift forms. It’s time we start your training.” He pauses, reaching out to grab Clint by the jaw. “I want you to know there will be consequences should you misbehave, do you understand? “ 

Clint’s forced to look up at the taller man, Theo’s expression is unnervingly intense. “What does misbehaving look like?” 

“Doing anything which I haven’t expressly told you to do.” Theo drops his hand and stands there expectantly.

Clint toes off his shoes and shrugs out of his cloths, already missing the warmness and quickly transforms. The process is quick, and he stands there looking up at Theo, ears forward and tail slightly tucked between his legs. He hasn’t been in his wolf form in a very, very long time. It hadn’t been safe to do it often in the circus.  
Smells and sounds were sharper, more distinct. Things looked different, not as vibrant in color, but just as sharp and focused. He felt the flow of air in the twitch of whiskers and fur. 

Theo smiled, looking at the mostly black wolf in front of him. The animals back and head were a dark fluffy black, its face and cheeks a light grey with a dusting of black along the top of its nose. Its chest, tummy and legs a darker grey, speckled with black. But it was the animal’s eyes that were truly unique, as they had stayed blue.

 

“Sit.“ He clasps the bigger black collar around the Clint’s neck and clips the leash to it. “You’re smaller than I’d hoped, but I suppose I should have anticipated that, seeing as your small in human form too. Let’s hope you grow“ 

Theo turns and walks towards the door. “Same rules apply Pup, to my side and a step behind. Let’s take you outside for your morning business.” When he opens the door, Clint’s surprised to see the same two men from the parking lot, dressed in black pants, boots and light weight black jackets, with guns strapped to their legs. 

“These will be your escorts, and they’ll always be around while you’re out of your kennel. I hope this will help dissuade you of any teenage rebellion.“ Theo looks up to the two men in the doorway. “Gentlemen, this is your Charge.” He looks down to Clint, and then points to the blond guy to the right. “This is Mark.”

Mark is average height with very short blond hair, bright blue eyes, and an average face with stubble along his jaw, he’s muscular, filling out the jacket in the shoulders and chest, but leaner in the hips. 

Theo points to the other guy “And this is Kelvin” 

Kelvin is Asian, Clint can’t even begin to guess from where, he’s shorter and leaner in build, with a pretty face and smooth looking skin. It’s his gaze that immediately intimidates him, its calculating, cold and intense; Clint looks away first. 

Theo tugs the leash and Clint follows him out of the house and into a courtyard that’s enclosed on three sides by a tall, beautiful brick wall. The yard is large, running the entire length of the long side of the house. In the far left corner, stands a completely enclosed dog run, about the size of a bus with a dog house inside. The enclosure looks to be made of strong, steel slates with a solid looking door. Along the right side of the wall are two wooden sheds that look nicer than most of the buildings Clint has lived or slept in.

Theo stops near the Dog run structure and indicates with a jerk of his head to the rest of the courtyard. “This is where we will be working on most of your training. You will learn how to protect your master. Now go pee.”

Clint ducks his head, ears lowering and glances back at the two armed men, waiting near the door to the house, then back at Theo. Reminding himself that he’s a wolf, and it’s completely acceptable to pee outside in front of people. But he hasn’t been in this form in a very long time, and especially not around people. It still feels.... awkward as he does it. He realizes now, that when Theo says ‘business’ he means to go to the bathroom.

Clint’s brought back in, and into his kennel. The rest of the week passes with him in wolf form most of the time, except for a few hours in the afternoons when Theo wants him to shower, eat lunch and ask him questions. Theo asks him about his childhood and the circus, about previous schooling and his family. Clint tells him that his family is dead, all of them, and that he doesn’t know anything more about his lineage. Clint’s not actually sure about his brother, whether he’s really dead, but he’ll never tell anyone that. Even though Barney did some mean shit and was an asshole most of the time, he’s still family. The rest of the time is spent alone in his kennel, and it’s boring. Like drive you mad boring, can’t wait to stretch your legs frustrating and sadly really lonely. He supposes the plus side to this is that he’s is finally starting to get some decent sleep.

Drummel arrives home on Monday afternoon. He walks into Clint’s room with a glass of bourbon in his hand and Theo following closely behind. Drummel walks around Clint’s kennel, the corners of his mouth turning down into an ugly frown. “He’s fucking tiny, what am I suppose to do with that? How old is he again?” 

Theo doesn’t look bothered and replies, “Fifteen. Boys don’t grow until a bit later, I’m sure he’ll get bigger.” 

Drummel makes a non-committal sound and stands there a minute longer staring at Clint. “He’s got good coloring though.”

Theo nods. “Does that mean you’ll keep him?”

Drummel takes a sip of his drink. “Yeah. You have a schedule set up yet?”

Clint averts his gaze; instead focusing on Drummel’s expensive looking leather shoes. There’s a small scuff on the toe of the left foot, where the leather looks dull. Drummel’s reply to keeping him sounds disappointed and it makes him feel less wanted than a mutt from the pound. He knows he shouldn’t give a shit, but it’s just one more person who barely wants him. Which is fine, should be great, because he doesn’t want to be here. Maybe if he was smarter, he’d be able to figure this shit out and feel better for it, instead of feeling conflicted and confused.

Theo nods, “I do. He’ll need to be educated, and taught basic societal etiquette. I have everything lined up for obedience and protection training. You need to name him still.”

Drummel sloshes the liquor around in his glass, “What were they calling him at that circus? “

“Hawkeye” Theo replies.

“That’s a bit of a mouthful.” Drummel lips press together in thought, still idly swirling the bourbon around in his glass. “I like Koda. It’s a good strong name, fitting for my black wolf.” He takes a sip of his drink. 

Clint’s ears flatten at that, he wasn’t aware about the possibility of being re-named. Should he feel relieved Drummel didn’t find it amusing to call him Patches or Sparky? 

“Sounds good. And his human name?” Theo asks, looking back to the wolf.

“It can stay as is, but I want his last name wiped out of all our records. Did you find out about his sibling?” Drummel asks.

“Not definitively, but I don’t think we’ll find a death record on his brother.” Theo says.

“Hmmm. Bring him to me in his human form tomorrow afternoon.” And with that, Drummel leaves, looking pleased.

Theo stays behind. “You hear that Pup? You’ll respond to Koda while you’re a wolf, and Clint in human form.” His voice hardens as he says, “There will be absolutely no changing, unless told to do so. There will be very few staff. And only a few will know what you are, I suggest for your sake you keep it that way, unless you want to end up like Fox. People, who meet you as either Koda or Clint, will know you as separate entities, and if you do anything to indicate to them, that you are the same; that you are both....bad things will happen. Do you understand?” Theo waits, looking at Clint, who’s sitting in his kennel.

Clint looks up at him, wondering how Theo expects him to acknowledge the question. Of course he understands, he’s not that stupid. 

“We’ll discuss this again tomorrow. I understand that you’re level of education and vocabulary may limit your comprehension. However I intend to help you in that regard, you will be meeting with a tutor five days a week from now on. We can’t have an illiterate...attendant following Mr. Drummel around, people would talk.” Theo frowns to himself before turning around.

Clint lies down, watching Theo leave the room, turning the lights off as he goes. The curtains are open, letting the late afternoon light in. He feels heavy and tired, which doesn’t make sense because he’s done nothing all week. He should be pissed off and making escape attempts or thinking up something clever and mean to say to Drummel tomorrow. But it’s like there’s a big void inside him right now. His life has just changed so much, his tenuous future apparently planned out, complete with an education because apparently nobody likes dumb trailer trash.  
But surprisingly he’s been allowed to keep his own name. It’s startling how much that matters to him, how much he’s clinging to the fact that he gets to keep something, how important it’s just become to him. 

The next afternoon, Theo leads Clint to the bathroom, where a fresh set of cloths lay folded on the counter.  
“Switch, shower and dress, I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.” He takes off the heavy black collar and then leaves, there’s a click of the lock when the door shuts. Clint changes to human, and hurriedly jumps in the shower, eager to have a whole twelve minutes under the hot spray of water all alone. This is probably going to be the highlight of his entire day. Three minutes should be more than enough time to dry and dress. A half hour later, finds Clint standing in an opulent office across from the huge dark desk that Drummel is sitting behind. 

Drummel frowns as he looks over the youth standing in front of him dressed in jeans, shoes and a grey hoodie. The kid’s hair is shaggy and overly long, it doesn’t look like he’s ever had a professional hair cut. Overall, the kid looks too skinny, too short and rough around the edges, but he has a pretty face and expressive eyes, so there’s definitely some potential.

“Good to see you again Clint. It was bad timing that I had to leave so soon after your arrival, but I’m pleased you’re settling in so well. I’m looking forward to spending some time with you.” Drummel pauses and looks over to Theo, who’s standing behind Clint. “Get his hair cut, and outfitted in better cloths, something suitable for his studies around the house.” He looks back to Clint. “I bet you’ll like that, won’t you?”

Clint waits a moment before answering, unsure if he’s actually expected to answer. “Like what? A hair cut?” he asks, incredulous. 

“Yes Clint, I imagine a white trash upbringing such as you’ve had, would mean you’d appreciate all that I’m giving you here.” Drummel says.

Clint’s eyebrows dip in anger. “No, I don’t appreciate being shoved into a cage, or my morning walks around the courtyard, or being talked about like I’m not even in the room. I don’t appreciate being kidnapped, or treated like I’m stupid or left for hours with nothing to do, I hate it!” His fists are clenched at his sides.

Drummel smiles. “Oh, you weren’t kidnapped little puppy, I bought you, and quite cheaply too. And if you didn’t have a very special parentage, there would be nothing remarkable about you, just another worthless orphan slumming by on handouts and petty crime. I’m giving your life direction and meaning.”

Clint’s cheeks redden, flushed with embarrassment, Drummel’s words hurt. But he’s also embarrassed by what’s happening to him here. “Not much better living in a dog kennel.”

“That can change with correct behavior on your part.” Drummel leans forward in his chair, elbows resting on the desk.

“I haven’t done anything bad; I don’t know what you want from me.” Clint’s frustrated and all alone, and it comes out sounding like a whiney child. He’s not doing a very good job at acting brave.

“I want you to be loyal and obedient to me, as wolf and man. I own you, you are my pet, and you’ll behave as such. When you’ve grown a bit more, and when you’re ready to take out, I want you to follow at my side. I want my big black wolf to accompany me on business trips and personal outings. You’ll be my own trademark in time. And when it’s not feasible to have my wolf at my side, I’ll have my loyal, educated and attentive bodyguard. Hence; your scheduled studies, which I believe start tomorrow.” Drummel says, sounding smug. “In essence Clint, I want my Fenrir to be my familiar, to devote your existence to me.”

Clint may not be worldly, but he’s pretty sure that this all sounds ridiculous. “What makes you think I’m gonna be loyal to you? I don’t like you or even wanna be here.”

Drummel quirks an eyebrow up, looking amused. “Where are you going to go? Who’s going to protect you? How far do you think you’d get, before I brought you back? Do you think I couldn’t have all the police agencies looking for you? I could tell them anything I want, and they would believe me, not some little carny trash like you. Maybe I’d let you sit in Juvie awhile, or for that matter, send you to the labs. I’m a very, very rich and influential man, little puppy. “ He watches the anger fade from the boys face, replaced by what looks like confusion.

Clint hates the doubt that’s starting to sink in, what if he’s really stuck here? 

Drummel smiles, and waves his hand in a dismissal motion and Theo grabs hold of Clint’s arm and leads him out of the office.

 

The next few months are a routine of morning walks around the courtyard, and then obedience training with an actual dog trainer while Theo stands close by to oversee. It’s simple at first, basic verbal commands paired with hand signals. And then onto personal protection, which Clint likes a lot, it’s great to move and run and jump around, and he takes mean pleasure in tackling the guy in the bite suit, he has so much pent up anger inside. After training, Clint’s led to the bathroom to clean up and dress for his studies with a tutor named James. James is in his early thirties, dresses in what Clint is told is “business casual’ and is enthusiastic about teaching. James likes to talk, and is willing to answer most questions and doesn’t seem to mind telling Clint about himself. Clint learns that James is an only child, who lost his mother to illness and no longer speaks with his Father. That he moved to the area from Seattle after getting the job as Clint’s tutor.

Clint spends four hours a day, Monday to Friday with James. On Saturdays, Clint meets with an etiquette coach for three hours in the afternoon, where he learns how to talk, walk, eat and behave with Societies upper half. Clint’s poor at small talk, and its frustrating trying to remember all the nuances in polite conversation and behaviour, because they all seem to change from venue, social function and from persons of different status and gender. 

In the evenings, when Drummel is home, Clint is expected to be Koda, and lay by Drummel’s feet, where ever the man may be, and to follow him around everywhere. Clint wears a fancy black leather collar with his name engraved on a silver plate by the buckle. He is often petted when Drummel is pleased and remembers he’s there, or kicked when he’s too slow or gets in the way and yelled at when Drummel is generally displeased because Clint is a convenient outlet for his anger. Clint quickly learns that Drummel’s moods are mercurial, and to be as still as possible when they shift so as not to attract attention. Drummel rarely has Clint attend him in human form, berating him for how small and scrawny he is; therefore preferring the wolf.

At night before bed, Theo takes him out to the courtyard again before Clint is placed back in the kennel. But now, the Kennel has been replaced with one that’s bigger in size with a plush, cozy dog bed inside for him to sleep on. Clint assumes this is one of the perks of good behavior. 

 

Clint’s been building up the courage to talk to James for the last three weeks, after three months of building up a rapport, he’s mostly sure James is free of Drummel’s influence and is pretty sure that his teacher honestly likes him. Clint figures if there’s a way out of this house, that maybe it’s through James, he’s just not sure how, or for that matter, how to ask his teacher for help. 

They’re in the study, the big bay windows are cracked open a bare inch, letting in a slight breeze; the hint of sweet decay tickles his nose, the smell of fall. Sunshine glints off the meticulously clean glass, and warms the dark wood in the room.

James sits next to him at the huge, wooden table dominating the middle of the room, bookshelves line the walls, and Mark; one of Clint’s ever present chaperons, sits in the cozy leather arm chair by the open door to the hall, a book in his hands. 

It’s an hour later when Mark gets up quietly and leaves the room; Clint assumes it’s a restroom break, nervousness causes his heart beat to quicken, this is his opportunity. Now’s the time to plead for help, to tell the truth quickly because Mark is never gone long.

He leans over to James, and whispers to him urgently. “James, my name is Clint Barton, not Clint Davery, I’m not Drummel’s cousin’s son. I was kidnapped months ago, and I need help escaping, please help me!” 

James looks over, attentive at first and then frowns when Clint begs him for help. “I’m not sure what sort of game or teenage rebellion you’re going through right now Clint, but that’s not very funny.”

“I’m not kidding around, why do you think I have Mark and Kelvin following me around everywhere?” Clint tries to keep his voice down and level.

“Because you’re a troubled youth, and your uncle is trying to keep you drug free and out of Juvie. He’s spending a lot of time and money, educating and keeping you out of trouble. A lot of families wouldn’t do that Clint, you should be thankful” James isn’t whispering, but he isn’t talking overly loud either.

Clint looks at James, mouth slightly open in shock. He had no idea this was the story Drummel told James, but in retrospect, he should have known. It sounds believable even to him, and with a crushing sense of failure, Clint’s shoulders droop, as he realizes that James will never believe him over Drummel. And that might go for everybody else in the wealthy businessman’s employ. But Clint still has an ace up his sleeve, he could tell James the whole story and then shift to his wolf, the teacher would have to believe him then. It’s at this point, when Clint is so totally focused on James and his current situation, that he doesn’t hear Mark quietly returning to stand in the open door way. But he does hear the two loud bangs, and feel the spray of warm blood on his face, and the awful coppery smell of it.

Time slows down, Clint jerks away from the spray of blood, eyes focusing on the small, dark holes in his teaches throat and face, one is just to the side of the nose, below the eye. The other hole is in the base of the throat off to the left side. Blood like thick spilled paint staining the pallor of James’s skin. He watches with wide eyes as James’s body slumps forward, head and shoulders thumping loudly to the table top, the weight of his right arm pulling his upper half slowly off the edge of the table and to topple off the chair, falling in a boneless heap to the floor. 

Clint’s heart is thumping wildly in his chest, his hands grip the arms of his chair as his whole body tenses, the whole thing seems surreal, even as a puddle of blood sluggishly pools beneath his teachers body. It isn’t until Mark grabs him by the arm and pulls him out of the chair, that the reality of the situation hit’s him, that Mark just killed James. This isn’t some nightmare, this is really happening and he doesn’t know what to do. Clint isn’t sure who’s all in the house, but somebody had to have heard the gunshots, maybe somebody will finally call for help.

It’s Kelvin who comes running into the room, gun drawn and stops just a few feet through the door. He looks at Clint, then over to James, and re-holsters his gun. “What happened?” He walks forward to stand closer to Mark.

Marks hand tightens on Clint’s arm. “Walked in on him” Mark jerks his head down to Clint. “Spilling secrets.”

Kelvin nods his head in understanding, not looking the least bit disturbed about the dead body by the table. “Theo will be here soon, I phoned him when I heard the shots.”

Clint’s head feels foggy and slow, and he has a moment where he wonders if this is what people mean when they talk about the effects of shock. That desperate litany of “this can’t be happening” is fading, while watching his two guards regard the murder like nothing more than an inconvenience. His mouth is dry, and he swallows. “Why? Why would you do that?” He asks, it sounds slightly, quietly hysterical. 

Mark looks down at his charge. “You know the rules.” 

Clint looks up at him with wide eyes. “He didn’t even believe me; you didn’t have to kill him. Nobody said anything about people dying!“

“Don’t look to me for an explanation, I don’t make the rules.” Mark stares levelly at Clint.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, how can you be ok with just murdering an innocent man.” Clint nearly yells at him, torn between bewilderment and anger.

“I’m not bothered in the least; maybe you better remember that in the future. Now shut up, or do you wanna find out what happens if you don’t?” Mark glares, then looks at his watch and over to Kelvin. “When’s Theo going to be here, should we stay or put him in his Kennel?”

Kelvin takes out his phone, dialing as he leaves the room to talk. He comes back minutes later. “Say’s to wait, he’ll be here soon.” He walks over to a chair on the other side of the table from where James’s prone body lies cooling on the floor and sits. 

Mark takes his seat by the door again, pulling Clint along to sit on the floor beside him. Clint turns so he doesn’t have the table in his line of sight, but sits without protest. Guilt and panic clawing at his chest, his guards total disregard for James is heart breaking. He wraps his arms around his knees and buries his face in the dark space between; maybe Theo will make it right. He needs someone to make it right, to tell him it’s going to be ok. He’s not sure how long has passed, but by the time he’s calmed to the point of only being a little shaky and taking longer steady breaths, Theo arrives.

Theo just stands in the doorway at first, taking in the scene, then motions for Kelvin to move to the doorway. Then walks over to Clint and motions to Mark who stands and moves next to Kelvin. Clint looks up, the urge to beg forgiveness and cling to Theo for comfort warring with fear and uncertainty; in short he’s frozen in place.

Theo bends down to grab hold of Clint’s hair, fisting it tightly and dragging him towards James. Clint scrambles to follow, one hand clasping the wrist of the hand holding his hair while gracelessly trying to crawl along, his knees skidding along the hard wood. He tries to bulk when he’s pulled a few feet from James’s body. Theo lets go of his hair, grabbing the back of his neck instead and forcefully manoeuvring Clint’s smaller frame nearly over top of his dead teacher.

Clint frantically struggles, but Theo kicks out his feet and pushes and yanks until Clint’s thrown on top of his teaches rapidly cooling corpse. James’s body is sprawled on its side, chest twisted towards the floor, face to the side with its uninjured cheek lying against the ground, one arm mostly hidden, curled beneath, the other resting haphazardly on the ground, knees bent and together and right hip resting on the floor. Clint tries to avoid touching the body, but ends up on his hands and knees, straddling it, one of his hands lands in the puddle of congealed, cold blood, and it’s all he can do to try and not throw up. The smell of newly decaying flesh, drying blood and piss and shit assaults his delicate nose, it’s horrifying. With nowhere to go, Clint turns his head to the side, but Theo grabs his hair again, and pushes his face inches from James, whose eyes are open and glassy, face covered in thick, black looking blood from the gaping hole in the cheek.

Theo all but yells, “Look at what you did Pup! This is what happens when you fuck up, you were told to never talk to the people you come into contact with.” 

“He didn’t even believe me; he wasn’t going to do anything.” Clint pleads back, his throat feels tight from holding back tears he’s so scared, Theo has never yelled before; he’s always been calm, even when he’s angry. 

“I don’t give a flying fuck what he believed, because he sure as fuck isn’t going to say anything now.” Theo shoves Clint’s face against the cold, sticky flesh of James. “Take a good look at what happened because you didn’t follow the rules. He was a nice young man, Pup, he was happy here, had a bright future and you snuffed it out.”

Clint closes his eyes; frantic, shaking and trying to pull away from the dead body. His one hand and both knees slide out from under him on something wet, he jerks back trying to regain some balance. The cool flesh against his cheek doesn’t even feel human, the smell of death cloying in his nostrils, the cool twisted press of James against his chest and belly is too much. Tears swell and slide down his face to drop onto dead skin, the pressure in his chest escapes in a keening sob. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, fuck, please...I’m so sorry!” 

“Sorry isn’t going to bring the dead back to life.” Theo pulls Clint’s shaking body up and away from James, grabs him by the neck again and looks him over. The kids a mess, there’s blood covering one hand, and all over the knees of his jeans and there’s splotches of it on his face. “Maybe I should put you in your kennel like this, let the blood dry and flake off your skin, and let you sit in the stench of it.”

Clint’s eyes are red and wet with tears and he shakes his head, sobbing uncontrollably now. “No, Please Sir, I’m so fucking sorry, I’ll never do it again, I swear it. I’m so sorry”

Theo glares down at Clint who’s the picture of pathetic remorsefulness, and when he speaks it’s directed at Kelvin and Mark. “You two clean this mess up, then come to my office.”

Theo drags Clint back to the room with the kennel, he follows in a daze, still sobbing. Theo grabs the collar that’s hanging on the hook by the door; buckles and locks it into place around Clint’s neck. He curls his fingers around the collar and proceeds to drag Clint out of the room, down the hall to a door Clint hasn’t been through before; it opens to stairs leading down to the basement.

Up until now, Clint hasn’t been beaten, a few kicks, slaps and the usual tugging on the leash, but nothing like what happened at the circus. Stumbling down the cement stairs, he’s pretty sure that’s what’s going to happen right now. Dejectedly he feels like he deserves it, but that doesn’t stop him from starting to shake with a different sort of fear, his sobs turn to a low whimpering.

When they reach the bottom, the area looks much smaller than what Clint expected, Drummel’s house is huge, it’s a mansion in size, and this basement looks like the size of his room. Fluorescent tube lights line the white ceiling, the walls are grey and the floor is cement, but finished in a shiny dark grey paint. There are rings in the walls and floor and in one of the corners sits a metal box about the size of his smaller kennel, completely enclosed except for a row of evenly spaced small holes at the top of two of the sides. There’s a small drain in the middle of the floor, covered in a grate the size of a small dinner plate. 

The ceiling is fairly high, and there are only two of the eight lights on, leaving the edges of the room in shadow and where the metal crate sits. Theo jerks him to the corner of the room, nearest the stairs and clips him to the wall by a short length of narrow chain. Clint stands there shuddering, trying to stifle the whimpers that just keep coming, arms crossed over his chest, shoulders hunched. Theo grabs a length of black hose, neatly coiled on a hook in the wall, then turns to face him while screwing a nozzle on the end, before turning a lever that looks like an outdoor water tap. 

Theo hasn’t said a word since the study, and he stays quiet as he squeezes the nozzle and sprays Clint with cold water. The water pressure isn’t hurtful, but it’s enough to drench Clint in minutes, soaking the stained beige cargo pants, sweater vest and light blue shirt he’s wearing, it’s one of his typical school outfits for around the house.

The water is cold, but he’s desperate to get the blood off his skin. When his hands are clean he scrubs at his face and hair then huddles into himself, resigned to wait until the end of his impromptu shower. He turns when Theo tells him to, his clothes turn heavy and stick coldly to his skin. 

Theo turns the water off and loops the hose back onto the hook, then moves near him to unclip him from the wall. Clint looks up, trying to convey how sorry he is, hopeful that maybe now Theo will say something to him, something nice, but instead he’s pulled to the crate in the dark corner, then pushed to the floor in front of the solid looking door. 

Clint looks up with pleading eyes as Theo leans over to unlock and open the door “Please don’t put me in there, please Theo, I’m fucking sorry....I fucked up.” This is awful, maybe worse than a beating, he doesn’t want to be alone right now. “Please say something...I’ll do anything to make it right...Whatever you want.” 

Theo pauses, eyebrows dipping in an expression of anger. “Yes you did Pup, and you’re going to endure the consequences, there are no second warnings. Not get in there; you won’t like what happens if I have to put you in there forcefully.”

Clint’s whole body slumps in on itself, it hurts so bad to be denied everything. He can’t help sobbing again as he crawls into the darkness inside the crate. The hard look on Theo’s face doesn’t change, and even though his taskmaster hasn’t raised his voice, or hit him, doesn’t make him any less intimidating in his fierceness. Once all the way in, he turns to face the opening, and watches as Theo pushes the door closed, the clanging of the locks being slid into place seems overly loud to his ears. It’s very dark inside, and the light he can see through the air holes doesn’t illuminate anything inside, he shuffles towards them on wet knees and peers through.

“How...how long do I have to stay here?” Clint’s voice wavers as he asks; he wants to beg, desperate for a kind word or look, wanting so bad for Theo to make this situation better. He doesn’t want to be alone, he feels awful, like everything is falling apart and all he needs is some sort of kindness. And Theo is all he has, he’d do anything, absolutely anything right now to get it. But knows he can plead and beg and scream, but Theo will just ignore him, and that makes him feel all the more helpless.

“That’s up to Mr. Drummel.” Theo replies. 

Clint wraps his arms around his knees; feeling shattered as he watches Theo leave the room. He’s grateful the lights are kept on, wonders, hopes Theo did it to be nice. He’s starting to shake, feeling fragile and alone. He’s soaking wet and every time he shifts, the parts of his clothes that have warmed up from his body move and cold sections replace the warm. Now with the quite of the room he can’t help but think of James, the way his body slumped to the floor, the sound it made as it impacted the ground, the shocked expression on the teachers face. Or maybe that’s just what Clint would like to believe, maybe the shock was all his own. James’s face was empty, eyes glassy staring at nothing, he had no idea death would change a person’s face so fast, that everything just stopped. 

His guards and Theo weren’t fazed at all by what happened, and if Drummel can get away with murder, if they can all get away with killing people so easily, Clint is totally fucked. Drummel...his life is totally dependent on a rich’s man volatile whims. He thinks back to poor Fox, stuck in a cage for years, what if Drummel leaves him down here?

Clint’s starting to feel light headed, and the nausea in his tummy burns and rolls, he realizes that he’s hyperventilating. He slides down the side of his crate, to lie in a shuddering heap, swallowing convulsively, the last thing he wants, is to be stuck in here with a puddle of his own vomit. A low, long whine escapes his lips, and he scrunches his eyes closed. He tries to steady his breathing, but the darkness isn’t helping, he’s frightened and all alone in the dark, and nobody is going to help him. 

Time passes, and the stress of todays events leave him drained and his mind oddly foggy, cold and uncomfortable but too tired and numb now for it to really register. Eventually he sleeps. When he wakes, he’s groggy and hungry, but doesn’t move, there are small parts of him that are warm and he focuses on that because his enclosed metal prison doesn’t retain any heat and he’s cold. He lays there until the need to pee is too much to ignore, then gets up to move to the back of his crate and relieves himself. He’s can’t see anything, but feels warm wetness on his knees as the puddle spreads. He doesn’t have the energy to care much, when the smell quickly fills the small space, he just shivers and hugs himself, at least his knees are briefly warm. He notes that his cloths have sort of dried while he slept, still damp in places, especially where he was lying on them. He lies back down near the door and waits. His life seems to revolve around waiting. 

He’s not sure how long he lays there, but long enough for hunger to be gnawing at his belly, for his body to get stiff, and to fall asleep and wake several more times. Each time he feels like freaking out, to yell and plead, he forces himself to breath and lay still, because he knows it won’t help, and it’s easier to lay still and feel numb. Maybe he took his time here for granted; it wasn’t actually that bad, certainly better than the circus...mostly, well differently for sure. What if things were irrevocably changed? He didn’t want to end up like Fox, or stuck in this box. Theo was actually pretty decent most of the time, at least predictable and always around. He was fed regular meals, given a place to sleep that was all his and Drummel was giving him an education. Really, he’d never been given so much attention. How had he fucked this up already?

He wakes again to the sound of the door opening at the top of the stairs. He shuffles stiffly up to his knees, fingers sliding through the holes to steady him as he peers through them. And when he sees Theo enter the room, a hopeful smile stretches his chapped lips and tears well up again he’s so happy and relieved to see him. 

Theo opens the crate door to Clint kneeling in rumpled cloths and the smell of urine. “Get out and strip.” He goes to get the hose again; standing there he watches as the youth stiffly but hurriedly pulls off his cloths. When Clint is naked, Theo turns on the water and hoses him off again, then rinses out the crate. Once he’s done, he puts away the hose and regards the shivering teenager for a minute before walking over and taking off the collar. “Switch forms and then sit.”

Clint does so, hopes Theo will see how quickly he’s listening, how eager he is to do whatever is asked. It’s a relief to be his wolf, mostly dry except for his skin, and wonderfully warm. He sits and waits with his head lowered while Theo places his other collar on and attaches the leather leash. His tail wags slowly, pleased to be leaving, pleased that Theo is here again and hopeful that he’s no longer in trouble. He follows Theo up the stairs and out to the courtyard and into the enclosed dog run where Theo unclips the leash and attaches a chain connected to the dog house. Clint’s unsure why, there’s no way he could get out of the enclosure, even in human form. But it’s the first time he’s been in here, and his stomach rumbles as he notices the full food and water dish. He hesitantly nuzzles the palm of Theo’s hand as the man stands up, unsure if it’s improper, but needing some form of contact, even if it’s just a stolen moment.

Theo looks down at him, his expression softening into something that looks pleased, before he steps out of the pen and locks the gate. “Drummel is still angry with you, but it’s easier for me if you spend the rest of your time here, less cleaning. You’ll be fed and watered once a day, until the time comes when you’ll start your training again. You’re lucky Drummel has grown fond of you.” And with that he leaves with not a single look back. Clint whines lowly, watching Theo walk away, depressed about being left alone again. 

Days pass, with either Mark or Kelvin coming in the mornings to feed and water him, and that’s the only time he’s see’s anybody. The fall days are getting shorter, dusk coming earlier and the nights seem to drag by, he’s miserable and terribly lonely. He has room to move around, and the dog house provides a bit of warmth and shelter from the wind and rain. The solid, brick walls that enclose the courtyard, narrow hiis world to the sky, the yard and the side of the mansion, and Clint finds himself staring at the door, hoping and waiting for Theo to come for him. He’s getting desperate for contact, he’s even happy to see his guards in the morning, but they come and go quickly and neither talks to him.

It’s just over three weeks later when Theo comes out to get him, and Clint sits eagerly next to the gate, tail wagging vigorously from side to side, and he can’t help the half bark, half low wining noises he makes in his excitement. He raises a paw to the metal slates in the fence, and yips. He’s never been happier to see someone before, but filled with anxiety, desperately worried Theo is going to turn around and leave him again.

Theo smiles and opens the gate. “Learned your lesson have you? Gonna be a good Pup?” He asks.

Clint wants to lean into the man, to nose against his hands and legs, needing contact so badly. Wants to bounce around he’s so jittery, but he’s still tied up so he waits impatiently.

Theo unlocks the chain attached to his collar and clips the leash in its place. He looks down at Clint then pats the wolfs shoulder twice, and ruffles the fur on the top of his head. “Good Pup.” He straightens and leads Clint to the house, Clint falls into place slightly behind and to the left, but is prancing excitedly instead of walking. 

Clint is ridiculously overjoyed with the pats and pet to the head, this is what he’s needed, longed for while he was alone. He doesn’t want to do anything bad, where he’s going to be left alone for so long again.

Theo smiles, pleased with the way things are working out. He thinks he has Clint mostly figured out by now, and is feeling confident in his ability to control and mold the boy. 

Drummel hires a new teacher to tutor Clint, a man around the same age as James, but who doesn’t have the same patience or genuine love of teaching. Clint keeps his head down, and gets his studies done without any fuss.

Over the winter they don’t do much ‘dog training’, but they do a bit of tracking in the snow, but it’s not much fun as they never leave the yard. Drummel occasionally stops to check on Clint, but still only sends for him as Koda. His days slide back into a routine.

It’s a spring day in April, most of the snow is melting away, and it’s sunny outside when Clint is brought to the Study by Mark in the morning. Theo is talking quietly with a man Clint has never seen by the large table and on it, there’s a big silver metal brief case open with things inside he doesn’t recognize. Over by the window, in one of the large, leather armchairs beside an ornate desk, sits Drummel. This is definitely a break in routine. Breaks in routine aren’t good, and he’s suddenly filled with dread. Did he do something wrong? Was Drummel giving him away?

Mark grasps both of Clint’s wrists and pulls them both back behind his back and pushes him forward to the edge of the big table across from Theo and the stranger. Clint balks half heartedly, knowing he has to listen but fearing what’s going to come and the restrained hold Mark has on him only serves to heighten the fear. 

Drummel looks at Clint. “Morning little Puppy. Things have been going so well, that I think we can now start leaving the property. But I want to make it very clear what will happen if you misbehave while out.”

Clint sags a bit with relief, one question answered, sort of. He eyes the stranger nervously, because that still doesn’t explain everything.

Drummel smiles when he catches Clint starring at the Doctor. “Dr. Bennet is going to tag you with a tracker, we’ve tested it on Fox, and it’ll stay in place and function properly in either of your forms. Secondly, if you run Clint, I will know where you are. And if you think the authorities can help you, I’ll have evidence sent out implicating you in the murder of James.“ Drummel smiles, and nods at Mark.

Mark moves in closer behind Clint, pinning the teenagers hips to the table with his own. Theo and Bennet walk around the table towards Clint, and it’s Theo who firmly grabs the back of Clint’s neck and forces his chest down onto the table. Clint listens, not willing to show Theo any disobedience, especially after Drummel mentioning the whole James incident, he’s tried very hard not think about it.

Bennet goes to the other side of the prone youth, a few tools in his hands and a pair of scissors and cuts away Clint’s shirt. 

Clint’s breathing fast, cheek pressed into the cool wood, facing Theo, he can’t see what the Doctor is doing, but he feels his shirt being cut from the top to just below his shoulder blades. Warm fingers move to the spot between his spine and right shoulder blade near his neck, there’s a pause and then something cold is being pressed there. There’s a moment of nothing and then sharp pain and pressure as something cuts and digs into him. He grunts in pain, but doesn’t say a thing. There’s more pressure and stabbing into him that adds to the throbbing mass of heat and pain where he’s been cut. The motion isn’t smooth, it feels like the Doctor is moving whatever he’s stuck inside him around with short, sharp movements, it hurts. Pain rips down along his back and into his hip and up his neck, his shoulder burns and he can’t help struggling now, muscles clenching, legs straining to push away from the table. He’s moaning and yelping with each jab, but still doesn’t utter a word, he knows Theo won’t listen. And now he knows why Mark is a solid presence behind him, there’s no way he’s getting away.

There’s a final hard push accompanied by a sudden deep throbbing that’s pulsing down his arm, and whatever was stabbing into him is removed. His teeth are clenched and he’s whimpering, panting for breath, eyes squeezed shut.

Bennet’s voice is close to his ear as he says, “This won’t require stitches, I’m just going to use sticky sutures and tape gauze over the area, he should heal quite quickly in a couple days” He wipes the area clean of blood. “It’s a small incision.”

Clint keeps his mouth firmly shut, it’s not wise to say something flippant to the doctor, because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like a small incision; it’s hot and sharp, and definitely not insignificant.

Drummel gets out of his seat and comes over to take a look at the Doctors work, and smiles. “Good, Thank you Dr. Bennet.” He looks over to Theo. “Take him back to his room; he can have the day off.”

Mark releases Clint’s wrists and steps back and out of the way, as Theo pulls the shivering youth up, the cut shirt falling to hang around his waist.

Drummel’s expression turns to dismay, as he looks at Clint’s bared chest and stomach. “He’s still too scrawny and small, maybe you should look into different diet and fitness plans. He hasn’t filled out much since last spring. “

Clint’s anger seeps away like sand through fingers, he ducks his head and stares at his shoes, shame heats his face. Dreadfully aware of his bared chest, it hurts more than he’d like to admit, seeing Drummel’s face contort into disappointment. He knows he’s small, he knows people don’t like it, but there’s nothing he can do about it. 

“I’ll see what I can do Sir.” Theo replies.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

After that Clint is taken out on the expansive acreage surrounding Drummel’s mansion, on leash for proper tracking, he’s also taught to distinguish potentially dangerous smells, such as poisons, explosives and gun powder. He’s trained how to properly guard his owner and trainer, how to alert them to potential dangers, how and when to be intimidating and how to behave out in public. Agility has also been added to his schedule, this is purely for exercise. Again it’s a lot to remember, but through repetition, motions become muscle memory. Theo helps him to remember chemical names and products and place them correctly to smells while in human form, even though his sense of smell isn’t nearly as good as when he’s in wolf form.

Clint continues his studies with the now occasional etiquette lesson, but with new regular workouts scheduled in the mansions gym with a fitness trainer. Things continue this way throughout the summer and into winter. Until eventually his training as Koda, continues once a week by Theo or his guards merely to keep everything they’ve all learned fresh. 

Late Spring marks the two year anniversary of arriving at Drummel’s house, which Theo tells him one morning. Clint wouldn’t say that time has passed quickly, but he supposes this has been his most stable home since his parents died. It’s also when Drummel decides that Clint will be accompanying him off the grounds on short business trips as Koda.

Clint’s both thrilled and nervous, he hasn’t been anywhere in two years, he hasn’t been around anyone not approved by Theo, which has been a very small, regular group of people. He’s only seen a bit of news from the TV from time to time when Drummel sits down at night. He’s been out of the loop a long time, and venturing out now seems a little overwhelming.

Two weeks later Drummel takes him on a two day trip to Atlanta. It’s the first time Clint’s been on a plane, if he was human he would be trying to look out the window. However, he’s in his wolf form, and lying at Drummel’s feet. The plane is Drummel’s private jet and it’s amazing, plush recliners, an office desk on one side, two sofas, a bar, plush carpet and it still smells sort of new. The altitude changes hurt his ears and make his stomach flop, but other than that, he enjoys the flight. 

When they land, they go through airport security and then into a large, waiting SUV that drives them over to the Hotel. The Hotel is like nothing Clint has ever seen, it’s huge and bright and beautiful and makes him feel small and trashy, like he’s trespassing and somebody is going to turn and point to him, and everybody will know he doesn’t belong. It’s the first moment he’s truly thankful that Drummel has him leashed; thankful his fancy collar has his name engraved on it, clearly displaying that he is owned, that he belongs here.

He’s also relieved that while a wolf, all he has to do is follow Drummel around. That he doesn’t have to talk to anybody, because he’s shit scared he’s going to mess that part up. The rest of the trip is spent between, meetings at different offices, meals at various restaurants and the hotel. Theo and Mark are there the entire time; when Theo joins Drummel in meetings where Clint isn’t allowed to follow, Mark takes him and they wait. All and all, it’s exciting and boring. The business trips Clint is taken on remain like this and happen maybe once a month, he always looks forward to them.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

It’s late November, and Drummel is away on business. With nothing to do for the rest of the evening, Clint is taken back to his room by Theo who halts just inside the door, and as habit, Clint automatically stops with him, but his eyes never stray from all the new things in his room.

There’s a bed at the far end of the room, tucked right into the corner, length wise against the longer wall across from the windows. The bedding is navy blue and looks soft, there are two pillows and the bed frame is low, dark brown wood and solid looking. His kennel sits at the foot of the bed like one of those trunks people used to have, to keep all their stuff in. There’s also a 4-drawer dresser by the head of the bed against the other wall. Clint has always had his cloths laid out for him on the bathroom counter up to this point.

Theo waves him forward, saying, “Go on, you’re free to use your room as you are. Your shoes go in the bottom drawer, and everything in here must stay tidy. You’ll not leave this room until someone comes for you in the morning. At which time you’ll be taken to use the bathroom instead of the yard, and you’ll take a change of clothes with you. Lights out by eleven Pup, is that clear?” Theo looks at Clint, who’s still standing slightly behind him.

Clint looks up at Theo and nods, speechless. He’s hesitant to move, afraid of doing something wrong and having all of this taken away from him. Only when the door shuts and the sound of the lock sliding along the metal frame, does he walk to the bed, running his palms over the bedspread. He moves around the room running his hands over the bed frame and dresser, then walks over to the windows; the freedom to do so is ridiculously thrilling. Smiling, he looks out at the snow covered property. His windows face out towards the back of the mansion, and his view is of the tall chain link fence that encloses the many acres of land Drummel owns. Forest edges the outside of the fence, as the property sits at the edge of rural land, with treed; snow covered hills that seem to touch the skyline, it’s very pretty, and very secluded.

He goes back to the door where the light switches are, turns the lights off, it’s not even close to eleven yet but he’s eager to sleep on a mattress and in clean, cozy blankets. He’s been sleeping in a kennel as his wolf for two and a half years; his room has only ever resembled a sitting room slash pet room. It’s so different now, and it’s all his, an actual bed and sheets. He smiles to himself, unbelievably happy. He’s not sure what he’s suppose to do with his worn cloths, so he just puts his shoes in the bottom drawer and crawls into bed as is. The soft cotton of his pillow against his face, the smell of fabric softener and the dip of the mattress is like heaven. He curls his fingers into the plush fabric of his duvet and hauls it up around his neck.  
It doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep.

His new room is a turning point for Clint, where his days no longer follow a strict routine except for his studies with his tutor. He attends Drummel on more business trips no matter how long they last, where Theo and one of his guards always accompanying him. A portable kennel is always brought along, and he stays in either Kelvin or Marks room at night or whenever he’s not at Drummel’s side, as Theo is usually with Drummel during outings and meetings. When they’re home, Clint is often allowed to go to his room unsupervised in either form when he’s not needed or when he’s dismissed by Drummel in the evenings. 

 

People are already starting to talk about Mr. Drummel’s wolf, wondering if it’s eccentricity like his father, protection, or a passing interest. Clint hears the murmurs while they’re out; his hearing while a wolf is exceptional. He’s not sure how Drummel finds out, but his owner smiles happily and pets his head and neck with long strokes. Clint loves the attention, the feel of a warm hand touching him with affection. But these moments of bequeathed fondness are tenuous at best; he’s learned to keep a close eye on Drummel’s moods. In public Drummel is a showman, charismatic, confident and always well spoken. But in private they change like high mountain weather, and with every mood change, comes a different set of do’s and don’ts. 

 

Months pass, its mid July and late in the morning when Clint and Kelvin return to the mansion after their morning run around the property, which they try to do three times a week, time permitting. The property is quiet and beautiful, and even though Kelvin is still an aloof and guileful presence, Clint enjoys his company even though they don’t talk. He enjoys being around both him and Mark, even though they don’t ‘hang-out’ or have mutual conversations, they’re the closest he has to friends. As long as he behaves and listens to instructions, they are never mean to him. 

Clint’s shirt is slightly damp around his chest and under the arms from sweat; it’s already warm this early in July. The long yoga work-out pants are tight around his ass and thighs but loose in a straight cut from knee to ankle, slightly drooping over the front of his running shoes. 

As they round the corner, coming up from the side of the mansion to the front door, he sees Drummel. Drummel is standing on the wooden porch, at the top of the stairs that lead down to the drive way, holding a cup of coffee. The porch runs the entire length of the front of the mansion, beautifully painted and designed, the white railings that enclose it are intricate and the pillars are solid on the bottom but branch out like trees to the ceiling.

Crossing paths with Drummel in human form is exceedingly rare, and it always makes him nervous and instantly ashamed of himself. 

“Morning Sir.” Kelvin greets his boss. 

Drummel just nods his head, watching the youth behind the guard. He’s been aware of how long his Pup has been here with him, just as he’s aware of what Theo and the guards have been doing in regards to training, education and fitness for Clint. Aware in that informed but too busy to care way, he isn’t interested in the time or effort it takes to achieve a goal. He dictates what he wants, and hires others to make it happen. Like the little wolf he found; young, too small, scruffy and illiterate, he didn’t want to take part in the time it would take to mold the boy into what he wanted. He was too eager to have what his father had, a big, obedient and impressive beast at his side. And every time he looked at Clint, he was dismayed and annoyed with the still scrawny boy, preferring instead the Wolf. But now, three years later at eighteen, Clint has grown a few inches, still not tall but better, his shoulders are wider, arms defined with lean muscle and from what he can see, a trim waist and strong thighs, Clint’s filling out his cloths nicely all around. Still young, but definitely growing up, his face has lost some of its boyishness, his jaw line is more pronounced and angular, full bow shaped lips, and with striking blue eyes. Theo’s had Clint’s hair cut differently; it’s shorter, but styled to be a little longer on the top, and it looks good. He takes a good look at what he owns, smugly pleased with how his pet has grown into such a handsome young man. 

Clint drops his gaze quickly, ducking his head slightly in what he hopes shows respect and follows a little more closely to Kelvin. He’s aware of Drummel’s eyes on him all the way up the stairs and in through the door. The tension in his shoulders relaxing only when they’re out of Drummel’s sight and Kelvin sends him up to his room to grab clean clothes for a shower.

It’s the next evening when Clint is brought to Drummel’s Den, in the west Wing of the Mansion, and he’s nervous, he’s usually in his wolf form when spending time with his owner. Mark opens the door, nods to Drummel and then shuts it as soon as Clint walks through, and leaves.

The Den is Drummel’s private sitting area, done in dark woods, cream colored plush carpeting, bookshelves, large fire place and equally large TV. Sofa, arm chairs and coffee table dominate the middle of the room, and at the back is a long, decadent liquor bar.

Drummel is sitting on the sofa with a glass of some dark liquor inside, and he motions for Clint to come and sit on the floor by his feet. He drops down gracefully and sits beside Drummel’s left knee, close but not touching and then stays very still, head bent starring at the carpet. Stiff and wary, not sure if this is how he should be positioned but not daring to ask. He figures it’ll be trial and error until he’s told otherwise.

Sometime later Drummel nudges Clint with a socked foot. “Pour me another finger of bourbon Little wolf.”

Clint stands and takes the glass over to the bar, aware of Drummel twisting around to watch him. He fills the glass and walks back, he looks up to watch Drummel a moment and then averts his gaze back to the floor, stopping when he’s standing slightly to the side, careful of the TV and attempting to stay out of the way of Drummel’s view of it.

Drummel takes the glass, sits back and lets his gaze travel over his property. “My, how you’ve grown.” He takes a sip. “Kneel back down Pup, and unless I tell you otherwise that is how you will sit beside me.” He watches how Clint sinks back down to the floor, tense but fluid. Drummel likes that, and he smiles to himself and goes back to watching the rest of his movie.

The next two weeks are another shift in Clint’s routine, Drummel now calls for him sometimes during the day and it’s as either wolf or man. During the days Drummel either works from his office at home, or drives out to the lab and works at the office there. Whether as man or wolf, Clint follows obediently and sits on the floor beside whatever desk Drummel works at and waits. It’s hard on his knees at first, and he’s constantly shifting his weight from side to side to prevent his legs from going numb, but gradually he gets used to it.

Over the years, Clint has become very patient, practiced at waiting in whatever position or place he’s put in. However, it’s very different to be doing it in human form away from the semi-privacy of the mansion, it’s more humiliating to kneel beside Drummel, to be petted or scolded, in front of other people at the Lab. He’s grown accustom to Theo and his guards, but he flushes and keeps his gaze down around strangers, afraid of what he might see on their faces. It’s much easier to ignore and accept in wolf form.

He’s just getting accustomed to being around Drummel as human, to the lingering stares, the demeaning remarks, the menial tasks he’s ordered to do, when they depart for another business trip. Out in public Drummel still only takes him out as Koda, and he’s sitting off to the side of the long conference table during an afternoon meeting, listening to Drummel talk to one of the women, flirting. Clint’s familiar with Drummel’s romantic affairs while out on these trips, suavely smooth-talking women back to his rooms, he’s heard all the ploys and lines. 

But later that night, Clint is being ushered out of his kennel by Mark, given a set of cloths and sent to the shower. It’s unusual, but he showers and follows Mark to the adjoining door to Drummel’s suite and told to go through. He walks into the Suite to find Drummel sitting on the sofa, alone, a drink in his hand with the TV on. 

“Come here little wolf.” Drummel points to the spot on the floor between his bent knees.

Clint wonders forward on bare feet and drops to his knees facing his owner. 

“Miss Glass seems to have canceled our little rendezvous tonight. I was looking forward to it. So as I sat here stewing in frustration; it occurred to me that you’re always available. Though not something I’ve partaken in on a regular basis, and by that, I mean men; my dick doesn’t care who sucks it.” Drummel watches as Clint’s eyes dart up to his, eyes wide.  
“Not you’re first time is it?”

Clint knows better than not to answer, Drummel is always quick to anger. “No Sir.”

“No, what?” Drummel asks.

Clint quietly mutters, “Not my first time.” How did things come to this? Didn’t Drummel find him crass and scrawny?

“Well then get on with it.” Drummel leaned back into the couch cushions.

Seeing no other option, Clint reaches for the older man’s slacks, fumbles with the button and slides the zipper down the hard bulge; Drummel is already hard. Hesitant, and fearful he’s going to do something the wrong way, unsure if he’s suppose to pull the slacks further down and the boxers or pull Drummel’s dick through the front slit of the boxers. He pauses and looks up at Drummel is askance. “How...”

“Pull them down under my balls and hold it there with your hand, it’s not rocket science, haven’t I been paying to educate you?” Drummel says, annoyed.

Clint flinches, but does as he’s told. He grabs the base of Drummel’s cock with his other hand and then leans forward to take the head into his mouth. It’s been years since he’s done this, and he wasn’t very good at it when he’d had to do it for the swordsman. But chokes down as much length as he can, trying to remember to swirl his tongue around at the same time. He feels uncoordinated and sloppy, there’s spit running down Drummel’s cock to his hand, and dripping past, he’s worried about the wet mess he’s making. Worried it’s going to piss Drummel off; worried he’s not doing a good job, worried about the consequences of failing to please his owner. He’s also aware of the taste, the sounds he’s making and especially the smell; it’s heady, musky and decidedly unpleasant. 

Drummel groans low, looking down at the blond head bobbing on his cock. “You’re not very good at this Pup, gonna have to practice. Curl your lips around your teeth, I want it tighter. Move your hand up and down with your mouth...Yeah that’s it, now more tongue.”

He can’t seem to co-ordinate his hand with his mouth in one smooth motion, and remember to do all the other things with his lips and tongue, and he keeps loosing suction which leaves more spit to slide down and puddle in the fabric of Drummel’s boxers. He’s flushed with exertion and stress and tries to increase his pace, willing the older man to finish soon. He strains to hear the sounds Drummel’s making, trying to gage if he’s doing it right, whether he should go faster, or change what he’s doing, but other than the occasional moan, Drummel is quiet. And it’s disheartening, Clint closes his eyes, breathes and continues until the ache in his jaw becomes distracting and his lips feel numb. 

It’s when he can’t keep any sort of suction, and his mouth has slackened that Drummel lays a heavy hand at the back of his head, forcing him further down and comes. Clint forcibly pulls back and sputters and coughs, eyes watering, trying to dislodge the bit of cum that made its way down into his lungs.

“Good boy, Pup.” Drummel looks at Clint’s shiny, swollen lips, flushed cheeks and miserable expression. Then lowers a hand to tuck his dick back in his pants, and notices the wet mess around and under his balls. “Jesus, you made a mess.” He frowns, getting up and making his way to the bathroom, but stops by the door. “Go back to your kennel Pup.” He walks into the bathroom and closes the door.

Clint wipes his face with the back of his hand, gets up and makes his way to the adjoining door, twisting the handle he finds it unlocked. He steps inside the room, looks up at Mark who is sitting on the sofa and quietly makes his way to the room his kennel is in, strips down, shifts to his wolf and lies down on the plush cushion inside. He closes his eyes, and waits for morning.

The next night, Drummel meets up with Miss Glass. Clint lets out a sigh of relief when he can hear the woman’s voice in the other room. Mark doesn’t comment, and they both carry on watching the movie on the TV. Tomorrow they’re heading back home.

A week goes by when Drummel comes to Clint’s room, flicking on the light by the door. Clint wakes up, blinking against the sudden, piercing brightness. He sits up in bed, eyes darting to the clock on the wall; it’s well past one in the morning. 

“Come, Pup.” Drummel punctuates the command with a slap to his own thigh, not the hand signal the trainers taught Clint for the command, but it’s what the older man uses all the time. 

Clint gets out of bed dressed in a t-shirt and boxers, he pauses by his dresser unsure if he should dress or go as is, and he looks up at Drummel; who looks impatient.

“Now.” Drummel says.

Clint’s heartbeat quickens in nervousness, but follows his owner out the door and to Drummel’s bedroom in the west wing; Clint has never been in here. The carpet is plush under his bare feet, but the atmosphere is oppressing, especially when he works up the nerve to lift his head and look around. The bed is huge, on a dark wood, sturdy frame; with matching furniture, just like everything else in the mansion, he’s really starting to hate dark wood furniture. The drapes are closed over the window, and the closet doors are mirrored. Drummel leaves him standing in the middle of the room at the foot of the bed, going back out to the living area, and returns with a re-filled glass of liquor and another stemmed glass with a small amount of clear liquid.

“Drink this Little wolf, I think it’s high time you experience fine wine.” Drummel passes the glass to Clint.

Clint hesitantly takes the cup, and brings it to his mouth after Drummel motions for him to drink. It smells slightly sweet, and fragrant, but there’s something in it that’s familiar, something he’s learned to avoid in his training. He pauses and looks up. “Sir, there’s....” But he doesn’t get to finish.

“I know what’s in it Pup, now drink it.” Drummel’s says impatiently.

Clint’s shoulders droop in resignation; he tips the glass and drinks it all down in two gulps. The wine is dry and bitter. He doesn’t know what the substance will do to him, but he was taught to avoid it during one of his classes. He sighs, tonight is going to suck, and the wine didn’t even taste good.

“Take off your cloths and get on the bed, face down.” Drummel moves over to the bedside table.

Clint does as ordered, he’s not stupid, he knows what’s going to happen, and he also knows this was probably inevitable after the blow job a week ago. But knowing and conceding still doesn’t make this situation any easier. He crawls onto the bed and lays down, heart thudding in his chest, resting his cheek on his crossed arms. He closes his eyes and hears Drummel leave the room, soft footsteps muted further by the carpet. He can hear the TV in the other room, some drama where the low cadence of voices in a deep conversation drift into background noise. The clock on the wall ticking as the big hand makes its way around and around. The wind outside is picking up; the weather tomorrow is going to be shit. His heart slows to a steady, calm pace and he almost sort of enjoys the warmth from the covers along his front.

Soft swishing from pants rubbing against each other alerts him to Drummel returning, he thinks maybe he’s lost track of time, at the very least lost track of Drummel. He feels the mattress shift as Drummel climbs onto the bed behind him, and can’t help the flinch when he feels a hand pull his hips up. Drummel shoves a pillow under them, canting his ass up higher. He thinks that whatever was in his small bit of wine has started to hit him or maybe it did a while ago, its not important. The room seems to spin slowly, almost lazily when he opens his eyes; his body feels heavier and lethargic, almost cottony, with disconnection. He’s aware of Drummel moving on the bed and kneeling over top of him, of the wet slick sounds, but when he feels a large warm hand grip his ass, the sensation feels oddly muted. It’s not an entirely unpleasant sensation, his body seems to loosen and sink into the mattress.

There’s a swipe of slick fingers smearing wetness between his ass cheeks, over his anus. He can feel Drummel’s thighs straddling his hips, a heavy hand pressing between his shoulder blades, it feels like Drummel is supporting his weight there, making it harder for him to breathe, and then there’s blunt pressure against his ass. There’s a moment of hesitation as his ass opens up around the head of Drummel’s cock, and then forceful thrust forward; he clenches his teeth against the sudden pain. It burns, which causes him to clench down and that stings even more as his body tenses from the awful ache of it. This is new and completely unexpected, why would people engage in this willingly? He’s pretty sure the feeling is being muted a bit from the drug, and is suddenly thankful for it, that Drummel was kind enough to think of his comfort. Clint closes his eyes, and turns to rest his forehead on his hands, pressing his face into the bed, puffing out hot breaths of air as Drummel shoves all the way in, pushing him forward with the force of it.

Drummel’s thrusts are heavy, hard and steady, the weight on Clint’s back eases, as the older man moves the hand off of him and onto the bed. Clint’s feeling more out of it, everything seems hazy and he doesn’t feel in control of his actions, his body gradually feels boneless and starts to rock forward with every thrust of Drummel hips into his ass. His breath is forced out of his lungs with each compression, and he can’t control the sounds he’s make; grunting and groaning, his pained whimpers, horrifically, seem to match the pleasured ones Drummel is making above him. Its odd how two totally different meanings can sound the same, he’s brought back to the present with a particularly brutal thrust. He clenches his fists in the bedspread, telling himself to hang on, that it’s going to be o.k., he knows logically this will end soon, has to end soon.

Drummel drapes himself along Clint’s sweaty back, and again it’s harder to breath with the added weight. Drummel’s thrusts are getting shorter, but no less forceful and his hot, moist breathe puffs past Clint’s left ear towards his face. Clint can smell the sickening odor of booze and bad breath. Drummel’s grunts are overly loud and lewd right next to his ear, and Clint can’t help flinching away, tensing but with nowhere to go. Drummel groans long and low, grinding, pushing flush against his ass, and Clint can feel the man’s dick pulsing inside him. There’s a moment of relief, he made it through and it’s finally over, he takes a deep, steadying breath. 

But Drummel doesn’t move off, his full weight keeps Clint pinned to the bed, sweat and heat from their bodies makes it too hot, too dirty and he’s desperate for fresh air and a towel. Clint’s eyes dart toward the night stand where the small digital clock sits with bold red numbers, big and easy to read; it’s nearly two.

Drummel shifts, moving first one knee and then the other between Clint’s and slides them apart, settling between his legs, cock still sheathed fully inside. It doesn’t feel like Drummel’s gotten smaller, softer maybe, but still full inside his ass. Granted, Clint doesn’t have much experience with sex, but he’s pretty sure, that this is when your dick went soft and the sex ended. But with most things in Clint’s life, this was adding up to be another disappointment.

Drummel starts grinding into him again, the motion is in and up, and it’s the up part that sends sharp stabs of pain through him. It feels like Drummel’s cock is stretching or tearing the opening of his ass, it’s awful and in trying to negate the pressure, Clint slides his knees further out and up towards the head of the bed so he can tilt his ass higher. 

“Look at you, already acting like a bitch in heat.” There’s amusement in Drummel voice.

Clint’s appalled. “No, it hurts; you’re hurting me worse like that.” He probably shouldn’t be speaking, but the drugs don’t leave him with much of a filter and he doesn’t want Drummel thinking he likes it and doing it more. 

“Whatever, you’ll heal quickly enough. It’s one of the perks of owning you, I can break my toy and in a few days it’s ready to be broken again.” Drummel grinds in harder.

Clint can’t help the sudden, loud shout of pain, and scrambles to angle his hips differently, but can’t move with the weight of Drummel on top of him. Drummel continues the small grinding motion, squelchy noises fill the air where the sweat between their bodies and the lube and cum in his ass are being squished around. Clint becomes aware of Drummel’s dick twitching inside him, lengthening and hardening, of feeling fuller. Drummel starts thrusting out and in again in short movements. It doesn’t take long before the older man begins thrusting in earnest. The same hard and heavy snaps back and forth, but this time the tempo isn’t even and quick. And Clint has the disheartening realization, that Drummel is taking his time this round, which given how long he fucked Clint the first time, is depressingly daunting.

Wet slapping noises mixed in with groans, grunts and the occasional sharp shout from Clint, fill the room. Drummel isn’t much of a dirty talker, or at least isn’t this time. But he likes to grip and squeeze with his hands, pulling on Clint’s short hair till his neck is bowed and his scalp hurts. Likes clasping the back of Clint’s neck and pushing his face into the bed until his lungs are pulling hard for breathe. Grabbing his hips and digging his fingers in around the bone unnecessarily. It goes on until Clint’s world narrows down to sweat, pain and the smell of sex and blood. He struggles ineffectually to move, to tense his body in order to try and minimize damage, to ease the hot, burning feeling in his ass. Until finally; Drummel slams his hips into him with a shout, once again grinding through his climax. Clint just lays there, too afraid to hope that it’s over, but utterly exhausted, panting, whining pitifully.

Drummel lays there a moment before pulling out and sitting up. Clint’s ass felt awful during sex, but with the brief respite, Drummel pulling out causes him to suck in a shocked gasp, the pain sharp and stinging with renewed intensity.

“Fuck. You did good Pup, I’m plain worn out.” Drummel grabs a hand towel neatly folded up on the bedside dresser and wipes his face, then his cock and balls off, before throwing it at Clint. “Go back to your room, and don’t make a mess on the floor.’

Clint’s still lying prone, but looks over questioningly at his owner.

Drummel points to the towel. “I don’t want the cum and mess in your ass leaking all over everything, use the towel.” 

Clint reaches for the towel, and presses it to his ass, winces and breathes out slowly while levering himself up to his knees. He’s shaky; his limbs feel un-coordinated as he shuffles to the end of the bed. It’s embarrassing and awkward to be holding a towel against his ass.

He stands on wobbly legs, things feel less hazy and the room is no longer spinning, but it’s still a concentrated effort to amble out of the room and down the very long, dark hallway to his own room at the East end of the Mansion. The air feels overly cold on his damp, naked skin, and as he nears his bathroom, he stops and turns to see if anybody is around. Everything is quiet. He shuffles inside, closes the door, turns on the lights and slowly manoeuvres into the shower avoiding his reflection in the mirror. He shivers as the cold water hits him but even when it quickly warms to temperature, he can’t seem to stop shaking. He lets the small hand towel drop to the tile, pink flows towards the drain. He watches it numbly as he blindly gropes for the soap. It’s fine, it’s not a big deal, Drummel is right, he’ll heal quickly enough and perfectly. Soon there won’t be a trace of damage, like nothing ever happened. After he dries off, he dutifully squeezes the excess water out of the hand towel and places it in the dirty hamper and then heads to bed.

Months pass with Clint slipping into Drummel’s bedroom about once a week, whether they’re home or out on business trips. Clint isn’t always required to drink the drugged mixture; it seems to depend on the older man’s moods whether he wants Clint to be dopey and passive or actively participating. Participating is always harder. 

Things change again for Clint the following summer when Theo hands Clint a stack of black clothing and a pair of black boots. The pants are straight leg with a bit of stretch for easy movement, but the fabric is durable, with cargo pockets on the side. There are long and short sleeve black shirts, and a black jacket with slanted pockets on the chest and a mandarin collar, its form fitting and made with expensive material.

Theo looks at him sternly and says, “You’ll be following Drummel around in either form now, but you are to act as eyes and ears only, the other guards with deal with anything should something happen. You’ll also act as his attendant, you’re to look professional and conduct yourself accordingly should you interact with the people around you. You’ll wear these when performing these tasks, unless otherwise told to wear something else.” At Drummel’s request, Theo starts teaching him how to act as personal security. He realizes quickly, it’s all for show, he’s just supposed to look the part.

He’s grown another inch and muscled out a bit more and has lost the rest of the boyish look to his face. He’s starting to look like a young adult at nineteen. They practice security manoeuvres indoors, in the gym, outside, and in and out of the cars with Mark and Kelvin. Clint enjoys it, enjoys moving around, being busy, but mostly about feeling useful. He’s also happy about wearing something other than the preppy clothes Drummel has him in all the time.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

By Winter Clint accompanies Drummel for the first time on his business meetings in human form. Theo and Mark stick close to him the entire time, and Clint is actually relieved by it. Even though he’s taken etiquette lessons, engaging with people is daunting, and Clint’s worried he’s going to screw up and be sent back to his kennel. He follows slightly behind and to the left side of Drummel; it’s where he’s supposed to be, in either form. It’s his job to open the car door for Drummel, scanning the area first before opening it to either let Drummel in or out. He stands at the back by the door during the meetings where the information isn’t too sensitive and he’s allowed to be inside the room, and gets Drummel anything he needs, whether it’s coffee, snacks, a pen or simply holding the briefcase, or folders. 

When he’s not allowed in the room, Clint’s stands outside by the door and waits, hands clasped behind his back. When Drummel goes for business dinners or social functions, Clint stands near-by, usually against a wall and waits, sometimes for an entire evening. Rarely is he needed at these times, but Drummel likes him there. As months pass, Drummel has Clint attending him in both forms during his outings, he isn’t able to discern a patter or reason to it, so he chalks it up to moody randomness. He could be following Drummel around as Koda during the day, and in the evening, during the social part, as human, or vice versa. Theo no longer sticks close to him, especially during the social part of the evening, instead he’s at Drummel’s side, or mingling with their associates, Clint begins to notices that by the end of the night, Theo always leaves with a lady on his arm.

It’s either Mark or Kelvin that stay nearby him now; they’ve even given him the freedom to take restroom breaks on his own. The new rule is one of them always has to have eyes on Drummel, and Clint revels in the responsibility when he’s the one left watching over his owner. Kelvin and Mark now work on separate shifts, five days on and five days off. It leaves him wondering when or if Theo takes days off, or if the man just enjoys living his life beside Drummel. It seems like Theo is always around when he’s needed, Clint can’t remember there being many days where he hasn’t seen Theo at least once. Minus the times Clint’s was punished and put in solitary.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

It’s Febuary when Clint gets himself into trouble on a trip. He’s in the reception area waiting by the office door on his own, while Drummel is on the other side, in a meeting. There’s a secretary working at her desk and a few chairs in the small area. The door to the hallway is open and he can see people passing by once in a while, dressed smartly in office wear. It starts when a pretty young blond women walks in, looks at him, smiles, and goes over to the slightly older, brunette secretary. They chat mostly about day to day work stuff, and Clint tries not to pay attention, keeping his gaze towards the open outer door. The ladies conversation turns to office gossip and then quiets to nothing, and that’s what causes Clint to turn his head and look at them.

The blond smiles at him, she’s slim, small and pretty, “You look awfully young; don’t they usually hire seasoned guards or ex-military to chaperone them?”

Clint just stares for a minute, debating what to say, or if he should even be speaking to her. “I’m old enough.” He says and then looks away, back towards the door, better to keep things short.

The blond just looks at him, still grinning, leaning against the desk clutching a folder to her chest. “Well it’s nice to have someone young and handsome not wearing suit around here for a change.”

Clint’s gaze darts to the brunette sitting down, notices the rosy color to her cheeks, then back to the blond. “Uh... “ He’s pretty sure that’s not what he’s suppose to say. His etiquette teacher would be so proud.

The brunette laughs. “She likes watching guys get flustered, it’s her sad little hobby.”

The Blond narrows her eyes at him and says, “It’s not a hobby it’s a desperate ploy for entertainment, you try working here for two years...what’s your name?”

Clint relaxes a bit, realizing they don’t mean to get him in trouble and the attention is....nice. “Clint. I think I have you beat with who has the more boring job.” His lips twitch up shyly in amusement.

She pushes away from the desk moving closer to Clint. “Oh yeah? I’m willing to trade stories, you around later tonight? I’m off at six, and I know a great restaurant.” 

Clint’s smile fades rapidly, that’s something that he’ll never be able to do while he’s owned. “No, I uh, I don’t have any time off.” He’s thinking of something casual to say when he hears movement on the other side of the door and stiffens.

The meeting room door opens and Drummel, followed by three others, step out to the sight of the still grinning, pretty blond standing intimately close to Clint. 

Clint feels like he’s dropped the ball, he wasn’t paying attention and the door opening catches him by surprise, which shows on his face. But he quickly assumes his position next to his owner as Drummel walks by, never looking back at the women. The blond just shrugs her shoulders, and goes back to talking to the brunette. 

He berates himself, sure that he’s never going to get to guard Drummel on his own again after this. He sighs inwardly, already disappointed, but surprisingly, Drummel doesn’t say a word about the incident the entire day. Clint nervously picks over the friendly encounter with the blond, maybe the whole thing wasn’t that big a deal, he has been told to interact with people when necessary after all.

However at the end of the night, when Drummel retires to his suite at the Hotel, as soon as the door is shut, he grabs Clint around the neck and slams him back against the solid frame. Clint has filled out with muscle, he’s not as light as he used to be, but Drummel still has a good five inches in height and maybe fifty pounds on him. But he also doesn’t put up any resistance. Drummel jerks his knee up into Clint’s groin, and slams him against the door again, hand tightening around his neck. 

Clint sucks in a pained breath; body trying to hunch over, a nauseating ache radiating from his balls but doesn’t resist. Apparently the blond was a big deal. 

Drummel’s face, twisted in anger is inches from Clint’s. “You will never speak with another female again, you fucking understand me? What do you think you’re gonna do, you sterile little shit! Sneak off to a closet for a quick fuck, exchange phone numbers?” 

Clint’s eyes widen in shock, the thought of sex had never crossed his mind, wait....what, he’s sterile? 

Drummel pauses to look at Clint’s expression. “What’s confusing my little wolf? Did puppy not know he’s impotent? No need to neuter you, you’re not gonna be making puppies.” Drummel smiles cruelly. “If I ever catch you interacting with another woman, I’m going to make sure you regret it for a very, very long time. I might even consider neutering you, just for shits and giggles” He punctuates the last bit with a solid punch to Clint’s face, snapping his head back against the door. 

He pulls Clint forward by the neck and forcefully pushes him to the ground, where he proceeds to kick and stomp, the blows landing haphazardly anywhere in his rage. Clint wraps his arms around his face and head, bringing his knees up to his chest, waiting for Drummel to tire, hoping his owner will get bored of this quickly, it’s the only thing he can do. Drummel yanks off his belt in vexation, and continues beating the shivering form lying at his feet, breathing hard with exertion.

Clint looks up when the kicks eventually stop, but then there’s the thudding weight, and aching pain of the metal buckle whapping into his body, the strikes hit his back and shoulders, a couple landing on his hip and legs and a few hit his hands covering his head, the force causing his fingers to ache and numb. Some of the hits find exposed spots on his head where he’s unable to cover, but his arms do a good job at hiding his face. He grunts with each impact and tries to hold his breath in between hits, trying to keep from making noise and hold it together. But it’s hard, wetness is clinging to his eyelashes as it seems to last forever, and just when he’s debating the merits and further consequences of getting up and moving away, Drummel stops.

Clint can hear Drummel moving away, and has to concentrate on taking big, mostly quiet gulps of air, trying to even out his breathing. He’s shaking from adrenaline and overly tense muscles. He waits, afraid to move and piss his owner off again. He can hear ice clinking into a glass, and the TV turning on. He hazards a look towards the sounds and see’s Drummel loosening his tie, slightly sweaty, sitting on the sofa with a glass of booze in his hand.

By the time the movie ends, he’s still curled up on his side, the shaking has stopped but the aches are more pronounced and he’s nervous and tense, waiting for something to happen. It’s during the end credits of the movie, when Drummel gets off the sofa and moves towards the bathroom and says “Get to your kennel pup.” Without looking over at him.

Clint waits for Drummel to close the bathroom door, before he struggles to get to his hands and knees to leverage himself up. His eye and cheek feel puffy, his finger joints feel stiff and his body in general hurts all over. He limps across the room to the adjoining door and slips into the suite he shares with Mark, who is no longer up. The place is dark, and Marks bedroom door is shut. Clint doesn’t bother with the light, he can see where his kennel is in the living room. He struggles out of his cloths, there’s blood flaking from a few of his fingers where the buckle hit hard enough to brake the thin skin covering bone, the ones that hurt aren’t working very well, stiff, swollen and still a bit numb. 

Once naked he changes to his wolf, the process is quick, it’s always quick, but painful when he’s injured. Torn, bruised skin and broken bones stretching and shrinking into new shapes is awful. He gasps and cringes which turns into a low canine whine as he stands there panting a moment, collecting himself before he moves. And discovers it’s much harder to walk on hurting front paws with toes that feel oddly wrong. He limps inside his kennel and gingerly lies down. At least as a wolf, his injuries aren’t as visible. With any luck he’ll be given time off over the next few days to heal, it doesn’t help the pain now, however, but it’s something to look forward too. He’ll make a point to stay away from girls in the future, lesson learned.

And what’s this about being sterile, he doesn’t think Drummel would lie about it, there’s no need to right? Unless it was just another comment aimed to hurt. Did it matter, really?

He’s jerked off in the shower enough times to know his dick works just fine. It’s not like he’d given any thought about settling down and having kids. In fact, it would be better not to bring a kid into anything resembling his life. Whatever it’s not like he has any say in what happens, it’s no big deal, not worth thinking about....he lays his muzzle onto the soft bedding with a sigh. The throbbing in his body won’t let him sleep, the night is long and depressing, by morning he feels worse.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

It’s the middle of summer when Clint notices a marked change in Drummel, his owner is moodier than usual, quicker to anger and beats Clint for no reason other than purely to hurt him. Drummel seems to be meeting with people other than the usual business types, strange men in private meetings at Hotels and on rare occasions, at one of Drummel’s smaller offices located in a business high-rise in New York. The type of building where hundreds of people are coming and going all day, where you can walk into the main lobby and disappear up the elevator to one of over a hundred different businesses. 

Clint isn’t allowed into any of these meetings, so he’s unsure of what’s going on, but it seems like something is wrong, a problem Drummel is trying to fix or maybe trying to avoid. Clint doesn’t ask, he stays quiet and still, tries to go unseen, because he’s starting to get angry with all the abuse. He hates how Drummel beats him for offences, real or imagined. No matter what he does, it’s wrong, no matter how he toes the line, Drummel fines some excuse to reprimand him. 

Clint shies away from Drummel in public on one of their outings, fear driving him to move away without thought when Drummel gets up too quickly from his chair after dinner. Drummel beats him for that later in private. He’s not allowed to cower away from his Master in public, it presents a bad image. He’s so frustrated because it’s clearly not his fault.

Clint’s kneeling by the fireplace in Drummel’s Den at the mansion late one evening, when Drummel walks back into the room after having been in the small office across the hall talking on the phone, he looks over at Clint, anger in his voice and demands, “Why the fuck aren’t you waiting in the bedroom.” Drummel’s pissed.

Clint frowns, this is typical lately. Drummel accusing Clint of defying orders, when no such order was given. “I was told to stay here, I stayed.” He’s annoyed and afraid, always afraid.

“You scrawny, worthless piece of shit, when did you decide it was ok to back talk me?” Drummel turns and heads to the closet in the bedroom and comes back holding a heavy weight cane.

Clint’s intimately familiar with the cane; it’s heavy, flexible and delivers wicked intense welts and bruises that feel worse than they look. Drummel also has a lighter weight cane in the closet, its thinner and breaks the skin when used hard enough. Clint stands up, the haze of anger making him brave and rash at the moment, he’s not sure what he’s going to do, but he knows he doesn’t want to lie down and take another beating for no good reason. Lately he just barely heals from the last thrashing before Drummel marks him up again. Even his body’s quick metabolism and healing can’t keep up with it. 

“What the fuck is this, get your dumb-as-shit ass back down on the floor, you fucking ungrateful dog.” Drummel is seething in anger, his usually articulate vocabulary slipping to grade school levels. He walks across the room to the bookshelf, his back to Clint, and pockets something into his sweater from an ornate box and comes back, a mean smile playing across his face. 

Clint doesn’t kneel back down; he backs up a little though, the rush of heated adrenaline turning to something cooler. He’s still not sure what he’s doing, if he’ll fight back, or if he should run, he feels like there’s things he can do he’s just not sure what, so he stays where he is, wonders if standing here we’ll make a difference. If maybe Drummel will see this as courage and praise him for it later, he’s always cursing Clint for a coward.

“Think you’re going to get out of your punishment, or thinking about biting the hand that feeds you. You’re still the runt of the litter, little Puppy, you’re going to learn to never rise up against me. I’m the Alpha, you’re the bitch.” The last is nearly yelled. Drummel raises the cane to rest on his shoulder, and reaches into his pocket with the other hand and pulls out a small, black gun.

Clint hasn’t been around too many firearms but he’s pretty sure that even a small gun is bad news, he also realizes he’s made a really big mistake combined with bad timing to try and stand up to Drummel. Pissing off a man who’s already emotionally unstable and stressed-out was a bad idea, maybe there’s some validity to Drummel telling him he’s stupid all the time.

Clint stands there frozen; shock and fear have completely eclipsed the anger “I’m sorry!” It’s just as he’s bringing his hands up in surrender and moving to kneel when the guns goes off. There’s a sharp pain in his upper chest near his shoulder, and another in his upper thigh. His eyes are wide; staring at Drummel standing there pointing the gun at him, as his drops to the floor hard on his knees. He looks down and see’s the blood. Eyes wide with shock; staring at the twin red holes and the blood that’s quickly soaking into his shirt and jeans. His breath hitches when the deep, deep aches start to crawl up through his nerves. Shaking he looks up only to recoil backwards as Drummel comes towards him with the cane. 

“Not so tough anymore, are you. I’m gonna beat the fear and respect back into you.” Drummel swings the cane down.

Clint tumbles back to land on his ass and the elbow of his good arm, the other lifts to shield his face. The cane strikes his raised forearm, bruising the bone and the vibration jarring his shoulder. Clint can’t help the pained shout and collapses fully on the floor. The cane comes down repeatedly, Clint raises his knees to protect his middle, and it hits his shins and along his arms. He twists, turning to his front, struggling to get his hands and knees underneath him in an effort to crawl away. Fuck staying and taking it, the animal fear for survival driving him to run away. In the process Drummel whacks him hard in the thigh with the bleeding gun shot wound, and the terrible agony steels Clint’s breathe, halting all movement. It gives Drummel his side and unprotected back to hit, and Clint can’t seem to catch his breath now, every stuttered exhale is paired with short, abrupt screams and shouts. 

It takes him awhile to realize Drummel isn’t hitting him anymore, and a minute more, that there’s a lot of blood in his mouth and he still can’t breathe right. Curled on the floor, he looks down at his legs, one of which is covered in blood, but his chest doesn’t seem to be as bloody. There’s a knock at the door, he glances up as Drummel opens it, looking calm again, to let Theo into the room. Clint can’t help but whine, desperately grateful that Theo is here to save him.

“Wrap him up, I’m going to call Dr. Bennet to meet you at the lab to fix him.” Drummel says casually, already walking out of the living room and back to the office, not looking particularly worried. 

Time stutters and Theo comes back into the room, Clint’s not sure when he left, with a blanket and wraps him up. Clint’s lungs feel wet, and he still can’t seem to catch his breath, he coughs and blood flies from his mouth. He’s feeling spaced out and shaky, cold and sore, and utterly grateful Theo has wrapped him in something warm and soft. That Theo is here and taking him away. He would give anything for a gentle word or touch, some reassurance, but Theo is quiet and efficient with his movements, face pinched in displeasure. It makes Clint want to cry and beg forgiveness, but he can’t find enough breath to speak. Getting to the car and then to the lab seems to happen too quickly, he’s pretty sure he’s missing patches of time. But he’s aware of being strapped to a cold table and bright lights before being poked and lulled into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter to be posted by the weekend!! Hugs :)

Chapter 2

Clint wakes to pain, there’s a dull sense of fading numbness, and growing aches all over that make him want to sob and curl into a ball. His mouth is pasty and dry and his eyes feel gummy when he fights to open them. But when he tries to shift to his side, to ease the muscle soreness in his back, he can’t. It’s then he feels the pressure of what must be straps under the blanket that’s covering him, a solid pressure around his wrists, ankles and lower chest. He’s not sure whether to panic or cry, there’s no way to move to a more comfortable position, or to flex his legs and arms to relieve the muscle tension.

He turns his head and opens his eyes again, notices that he’s in the lab, and searches his memory for why he’s here, why he didn’t notice that right away. His mind feels foggy and sluggish, it doesn’t normally take this long for memory to settle and that starts to worry him. The room he’s in is small, containing just the bed he’s on, medical equipment, a small rolling stainless steel table, and a large bay window beside the door that leads out into the hallway. The lights inside are dimmed, but the hallway lights are bright and reflect off the white walls, Clint squints when looking out the window. He flexes the muscles in his left leg, and the sharp spasm that shoots up his thigh causes him to suck in a breath that burns his chest. It also jogs the memory of his ill-timed, foolhardy moment of disobedience, which drove Drummel to discipline him so severely. 

The aching, burning and overall throbbing in his body has increased immensely by the time Dr. Bennet comes into the room to check on him. He’s holding a clipboard and looks at the machines and IV first, writing stuff down, then moves the blanket to check on the gunshot wounds and bruising, avoiding Clint’s eyes.

Clint wonders if it’s because the doctor doesn’t see him as a person, or if it’s because he cares. “Please Dr. Bennet, it hurts.” Right now he’ll will happily beg for relief.

Still not looking at Clint he says, “I’m sorry Koda, but Mr. Drummel told me you were not to receive any analgesic. “ 

“Could you maybe just untie me, I’ll stay on the bed. Or you could tie me to it by my collar.” Clint’s voice is raspy.

Dr. Bennet shakes his head, “I’m sorry Koda, but it’s better for you to heal anyway.”

“Please, I just need to move, please, I swear I’ll behave.” Clint’s desperate, it’s an awful feeling to be denied everything you ask for, crushing and he’s embarrassed at how pathetic he must look.

Bennet just stands there looking down at Clint, face impassive. “No Koda, you will not be moved until it’s time to do so.”

Clint fights for self control as he realizes Bennet is as impartial to him as everyone else, and no matter how much he pleads for empathy, the Doctor won’t be moved. “My name’s Clint.” 

Bennet shakes his head again. “No, it’s only Koda while you’re in the labs. You’re here for recuperation, evaluation, and to help with some cross research I’ve wanted to do with Fox. Until Drummel requests you back, you’re the property of this lab and under my supervised authority. I suggest you rest, I’ll be back later to see how you’re healing.” He places the blanket back over Clint and leaves.

Clint is unstrapped the following day, but stays unrestrained and nestled on the bed for four more days. The time it takes to heal the worst of the damage from the gunshot to his chest, before he’s released and taken to the second big cage next to Fox, in the subject room beside one of the main work areas. The cages are made of solid steel, with metal mesh bars only for the doors. He’s told to stay human until his injuries have completely healed, which he’s ridiculously thankful for. He slowly and awkwardly crawls inside, his body is stiff from days of being immobile and his injuries are still excruciating and only partially healed, it’s hard to move.

The cage is bigger than his kennel at the mansion; it’s maybe just over five feet high, five feet wide and long enough towards the back that he’s able to lay down on the padded bed of blankets and stretch out, his toes just hitting the back wall. He’s given a thick, warm blanket to curl up with. The warmth from the blanket makes him smile in pleasure, he hasn’t been given any cloths and he’s cold. The room is horribly bright with fluorescent lighting and smells of nasty pungent things. Fox doesn’t make a sound, but when Clint was half carried into the room and caught a glimpse of the other wolf, Fox didn’t look healthy at all; lying flat on his side in the cage, fur dull and scruffy.

Clint pulls the blanket over his head to block out the light. He’s terribly tired, he hurts and the constant ache in his body seems to tire him out quickly. But he’s utterly grateful to be taken care of; he smiles as he tenderly shifts a bit, the warmth of the blankets make him hum in pleasure. What does that say about his life, he thinks, when he’s relieved to be put in a cage with a warm blanket?

Two weeks later he’s completely healed up, except for some minor discomfort. Every day he’s taken out to the room next door, blood is taken along with pictures and notes on how he’s healing. Breakfast and dinner are delivered in a bowl to be eaten in his cage, and he’s taken out for bathroom breaks. But other than that, he’s been left alone.

Fox doesn’t do much, but every day, someone comes to collect blood from him too. Clint’s starting to wonder how the wolf has managed to live so long, wonders if he could endure such a long captivity in the lab. Then he starts to worry about being left here, what if Drummel finds another wolf, a bigger, better and prettier wolf than him. He knows Drummel is always on the look-out for another. And now that he’s has acted brashly, foolishly thinking he deserved better, what if he’s just fucked everything up and everything he’s known is taken away again? If Drummel gives him a second chance, maybe he can endear himself to his owner, so that when Drummel does eventually find another wolf, he’ll be allowed to stay. Most likely taking the lower position, but still able to stay at the mansion, to still have duties, still be useful and not here in the lab to take Fox’s place. The previous warmth and sleepy comfort is chased away by renewed stress of his unpredictable future.

Bennet doesn’t do anything really awful to Clint, but some of the things are uncomfortable, frightening, or a moderately painful, but never damaging. He’s been here for over a month when Theo walks through the door holding a leash and collar. Clint is in his wolf form, and lets out a yelp of excitement when he sees him, practically prancing in place by the door of his kennel. His tail is wagging so hard, his whole body moves with it, he paws at the metal slats of his door, low, long howls filling the previously quiet room with noise. Clint’s so happy, he was depressingly afraid of being left, and fervently hoping for someone to come for him, for Drummel to want him again. 

Theo opens the cage door, and Clint bolts out to prance around Theo’s legs, rubbing his muzzle on his wardens leg and up into his palm. He wants to go with Theo, wants to go back to the mansion, and he’ll gladly do whatever they tell him, anything to get out of the lab, he hates being left alone for hours here, hates being stuck in a cage, hates the lab and the smell of Fox, who is surely dying. He wants to be wanted.

Theo smiles. “Sit Pup.”

Clint does so immediately, waiting as Theo buckles the collar up and clips the leash on.

“Good boy.” Theo says, and looks up at Bennet who’s standing in the doorway. “Keep me informed about Fox, Drummel wants the body frozen whole when he dies.” 

“Or course Mr. Arlen.” Bennet nods.

Clint looks over to Fox, lying prone in his cage, all scruffy, matted white fur and feels awful for him. But he doesn’t feel bad about being the one allowed to leave. 

Clint’s homecoming falls short of joyful when Theo drops him off in Drummel’s living room that evening in wolf form. Clint drops his head, and walks slowly and slightly crouched towards his owner. But Drummel just frowns, so Clint drops to the ground and crawls over. He stops when he gets a foot away from Drummel’s feet and rolls over submissively showing his belly and tucking his tail. 

Drummel smiles meanly, his eyes glinting as he says, “Shift forms, little Koda.” 

Clint rolls back over and does so, moving to kneel on the floor. Drummel twists on the sofa, picking up the cane lying there. Clint swallows and looks up at Drummel fearfully, his hopes of any sort of kind greeting quickly crushed, the disappointment hurts.

“Now what are you gonna do Pup?” Drummel stands and raises the cane.

Clint bows his head and cowers down; raising an arm to again cover his head and braces for the thrashing he’s going to get, already shaking. Drummel beats him hard, the cane coming down quickly, forcing whimpers and chocked off shouts from his mouth. It doesn’t last long, but by the end, Clint’s sweating, his skin is puckering into welts, sharp stinging that turns into a deepening, long lasting burn. Places are already bruising, and he’s criss-crossed with red and white blotches, a few spots are sluggishly bleeding where the skin has split open. But his bones don’t feel bruised, Drummel must have used the lighter cane, Clint wants to thank him.

“Good boy Pup. Off to your room, I want you to start working out again tomorrow, you’ve gotten skinny and I find it appalling. You’re small enough as is.”

“Yes Sir.” Clint struggles to stand, his limbs quivering and stiffly limps to the door but pauses when he opens it, head bowed he says, “Thank you, I like being home again.” He can’t help but glance down at himself, his lean frame marked up and ugly. It’s just one more thing that’s not good enough, but at least it’s something he can work on. He may be small, but at least he can pack on some muscle. 

He doesn’t raise he eyes to look at his owner, but waits a minute with the small hope he might get an acknowledgment, but when Drummel doesn’t answer, he dejectedly closes the door behind him and goes to his room. To his bed, that’s shockingly still there, and slips carefully under the plush covers, smiling, grateful and happy to be home. Halfway through the night, when some of the pain has lessened he falls asleep.

Things go back to the way they were and Clint is thankful he’s been so quickly forgiven. Its early fall when they head out to Boston for a business trip, it’s a huge conference and there’s people from all over attending. Most of them in the Biotech, Medical research and development and pharmaceutical business, big and small companies sending their employees and bosses to the four day event. It’s being held at one of the big, fancy hotels where the conference rooms are huge, the guest rooms are swanky and the restaurant and ball rooms are beautiful and opulent. 

The first day Clint follows Drummel around as Koda, he stays by his owner’s side, as Drummel and Theo greet familiar associates in the lobby of the hotel. By noon everybody eventually slowly drifts into the main conference hall. The room is a theater auditorium, circular rows of long arching tables with chairs that drop down after each row. The front of the room is at the bottom, with a long table and chairs with a giant screen dominating the centre, front wall, with two small screens on each side. The set up is spacious and comfortable with an academic feel to it, with enough room for the hundreds of people attending. 

Clint lies next to Drummel’s chair on the left facing away from the table, Theo is to Drummel’s right, they’re seated at the far end by the wall of the last row, at the back of the room. 

There are eleven men and six women standing along the back walls, most are in suits and a few are in plain black outfits. One of the ladies is wearing a skirt and dress shirt and holding a folder. Clint thinks most of them are security personnel for the men attending the conference, like him and Kelvin are here for Drummel. But some are paying close attention to the presenter at the front of the room, so he’s not entirely sure who they are, interns or assistants maybe. Clint pays attention to all of them regardless and the two doors on either side of the room, but after awhile, when everyone seems settled, he zones out. He’s used to people staring at him, and it’s no different here, he ignores it and sets his chin on his paws.

Long, boring hours pass until everyone breaks for dinner. Drummel and Theo go straight to the huge ball room, which has been set up with large round tables, draped in dark red cloth all grouped near the left and middle of the room, with the right side kept bare for a small dance floor. The front of the room is a stage with equipment set up for the band, and next to that is a very long, fully stocked, beautiful wooden bar. There are four doors in the room, one is by the bar, and Clint assumes from the smell of food, it leads to the kitchen, two at the back for general traffic in and out, and a door by the dance floor. He has no idea where it leads.

The edges of the room are free of tables, and offer wide walking area to migrate around the room. As the place fills up with people from the conference, so do the walls with mostly the same security personnel, minus the few people who Clint wasn’t certain were actually security. Drummel and Theo’s table is near the bar and filling up with the associates Drummel was talking to earlier. There’s not a lot of space between people, so Clint sits slightly behind Drummel’s chair. Drinks are served quickly and repeatedly, the band starts playing and the place gets noisy with chatter. A little while later Drummel laughs at something someone says and moves his chair back, repositioning himself, and bumps into him. Clint looks up at him warily, ears slightly flattened to his head in apprehension as shuffles away from the chair.

Drummel looks down at Clint, and then indicates to the door closest to them with a slight nod and says, “Go sit over by the wall Koda, you’re in the way.” He makes a little dismissal motion with his fingers and turns back around to continue talking.

Clint drops his head to pick the middle of his leather leash up off the ground in his teeth, gets up and walks over to the wall, and sits out of the way, dropping the leash to the ground in front of his paws. He sits there for awhile, bored but still watchful when one of the security guys comes over to stand near him. Clint looks up, curious; most people are pretty respectful or fearful of him and make a point of keeping their distance.

The stranger is dressed impeccably in a well fitting suit, he’s average height and maybe in his thirty’s, but Clint’s never been good at guessing ages. The guy has a non-threatening posture; arms loosely clasped in front, shoulders relaxed. He looks down, smiles and says, “Hi, I hope I’m not disturbing you?” The guy pauses then adds “Or too close?”

Clint flicks both ears forward and stares, surprised; no one ever talks to him, at least not like this. A lot of women tend to talk to him with that high pitched baby voice spewing out nonsense that Clint finds irritating; but that Drummel loves, playing into the whole’ pet my cute dog, let me buy you a drink’ thing.

The guy is probably better dressed than half the people in the room, but what catches Clint’s attention is the friendly, easy expression on his face. The guy still looks expectant, patiently waiting for an answer, which is ridiculous. Clint tilts his head a bit to the side, he doesn’t have a clue what to do, the situation is sort of amusing. It occurs to him that his staring may come off as looking aggressive or threatening, so he tilts his muzzle down and looks away, but keeps an ear pointed towards the guy. 

It’s an hour later when the guy beside him speaks again. “I believe that your Mr. Arlen missed his opportunity with Miss Nelson over there; I gather he isn’t into sharing, I hear she has quite the reputation.”

Clint looks up at Mr. Suit, cause that’s what he’s going to call him, then follows his gaze to the dance floor where a very pretty women in a form fitting red dress is dancing with two gentleman. Her movements are graceful and confident, reaching out to both men, bringing them closer to her and together. She’s definitely the one in charge, the way she moves with them looks more like teasing than dancing. When the song ends, Miss Nelson allows both her dancing partners to escort her out. It’s obvious they won’t be back tonight. He looks over at Theo, and sure enough, his Warden is watching the three walk out of the room.

Clint looks back up at the guy, who looks amused. Mr. Suit notices Clint starring and looks back down. “I’m Coulson; it was rude of me not to introduce myself earlier.”

Clint wonders if Coulson has many friends or if he just works alone a lot and is really lonely. Maybe Coulson is bad with people, or doesn’t know how to be social, so talking to an animal seems like the safer option. Or maybe the guy is just really weird. Whatever the reason, Coulson continues on with random bits of one sided conversation. Clint enjoys the company, nobody has ever just talked to him companionably before. It’s new and pleasant and fills his chest with something like pleasure. He finds himself often trying to sneak glances at Coulson when the man isn’t looking, but catches the man’s eyes more often than not. Coulson’s neutral expression never wavers, always looking back down at him pleasantly and it’s weirdly comfortable. Hours pass and he finds himself dreading the end of the night. 

It’s past midnight when Drummel gets up from the table and makes his way out of the room. Theo looks over and shows the hand signal for come. Clint picks up his leash and trots off to follow beside Theo, if at all possible, he wants to avoid Drummel tonight, his owner is drunk and drunk means unpredictable. He doesn’t look back at all at Coulson, doesn’t want Theo or Drummel to tarnish one of the few enjoyable experiences he’s had with violence or misery tonight over some sort of perceived wrong doing.

Drummel retires to his room without comment, and Theo takes Clint to the adjoining suite he’s sharing, as usual; with Kelvin. Kelvin’s been gone all night, doing something for Drummel and the suite is still empty. 

Theo doesn’t enter, instead he unbuckles the collar and says, “Change and go to bed, be dressed in the morning to attend Drummel.” He closes the door as he leaves. Clint assumes Theo’s off to meet up with another woman in his own suite down the hall. There’s the soft scent of perfume still lingering to his suit jacket.

The next morning Clint follows Drummel down to the restaurant and waits by the doors as his owner eats breakfast. Later at eleven Drummel meets with a single gentleman in a private suite in the hotel, where again, Clint stands by the door out in the hallway, it lasts only an hour.

After lunch the Conference starts again and everyone finds their tables in the conference theater; Clint takes his position at the back of the room like the rest of the security guys. Moments later, Coulson appears through the door and stands next to him, but not as close as last night.

Clint sneaks a glance at Coulson when he’s confident Theo and Drummel are occupied. Coulson’s a bit taller than him, standing with his hands clasped loosely in front of his body; his stance looks as relaxed today as it did last night. Like he’s either not particularly worried about anything or he’s confident in his abilities and doesn’t feel the need to puff up and put on an air intimidation; like most of the other security guys with their crossed arms and narrowed eyes. Clint looks up to get a better look and see’s the same affable expression from the night before, Clint just doesn’t know how to categorize the man, and tilts his head to the side in puzzlement. 

This seems to catch the older man’s attention and he looks over and pleasantly says, “Good afternoon.”

Clint straightens, and nods his head, hopes he wasn’t starring too long to be construed as rude, then remembers he’s allowed to speak and mumbles, “Af...Afternoon.” He clenches his jaw, feeling ridiculous with his stuttered reply, but he never said he was smooth. He looks over at Coulson again and adds, “Mr. Coulson.” Oh yeah, totally nailed it. He heaves an inward sigh, one day he’s going to figure out how to be casual and confident when talking to people.

Coulson doesn’t look fazed with Clint’s hesitant greeting, just looks amiable and turns to scan the room. “Miss Nelson is looking remarkably rested today, though I can’t say the same for her dance partners.”

Clint immediately looks over to where Coulson is staring, he picks out Miss Nelson easily enough, she’s wearing a respectable skirt and blouse with a button up jacket, hair perfectly curled and is definitely bright eyed. Clint scans the room for her two gentleman callers and finds them both slightly hunched over their respective tables, looking tired.

Clint sort of grins, it’s small and he’s not sure why he’s amused, “She certainly has more endurance than those two.” And this is..nice, he’s actually having a conversation with someone. 

Coulson looks over. “Mr. Arlen wasn’t too disappointed?”

Clint huffs out an amused breath. “No, Theo somehow always manages to find a lady by the end of the night.” He stiffens, remembering where he is and that maybe what he’s doing is wrong, he twists his head over to check on Drummel and Theo, but they’re completely focused on things other than him. He’s pretty sure it’s alright to mingle a bit, but he’d rather do it without getting caught. Which should be easy since Kelvin still hasn’t arrived back at the hotel, so there’s isn’t another pair of eyes watching him. But it’s to open, too bright and not enough activity going on in here for him to want to risk it. All Drummel has to do is turn to look at him, and Coulson is on his right; he has to face away from his owner to talk to the other man.

But Coulson doesn’t engage him further, and Clint finds he’s both disappointed and relieved about that. When everybody leaves for dinner hours later, it’s the same thing as the night before, and Clint stands at the back of the room. This time however it’s a young woman who moves to stand by him, wearing a tidy looking pant-suit with her brown hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, she looks over and smiles at him.

Clint freezes in a moment of panic, recovers quickly, glares at her then looks away while moving a few steps to the right. He doesn’t want to be anywhere near her in case Drummel looks over. He doesn’t look at or acknowledge her in any way again, but can’t pull off looking relaxed because he’s nervous as hell. Fifteen minutes later she must get the message because she moves to the other side of the room. He sighs while hazarding a look at Drummel’s table, hoping the small interaction wasn’t seen, but both men are engaged in conversation with their table mates. Clint relaxes and settles in for a long, boring evening. 

It’s late when Coulson shows up beside him again, Clint looks over uncertainly, wondering if they’re on speaking terms still, wondering if he can say something, or if he should wait for the other man to go first. Coulson doesn’t acknowledge him right away, and Clint’s hopes plummet. He drops his eyes to the floor then back out over the ballroom, feeling oddly rejected. He tells himself it doesn’t matter, he’s not supposed to be mingling anyway, it’s a distraction and will probably earn him a beating later.

Coulson looks over at Clint and asks, “Anything interesting happen while I was out?”

Clint looks over with wide eyes, relieved and excited. Nervous delight rolls and flutters in his stomach, it’s not entirely pleasant. “Uh, nope.” Crap, he doesn’t want to bore Coulson and have the man walk away, he racks his brain for something to say. “Well... Mr. Canery drunkenly tried to turn the stage into Karaoke, but his friends dragged him down pretty quick.” He cringes inwardly, that’s not the type of response his etiquette teacher would be proud of, nor is it interesting. Dammit.

“Oh, well if that’s what you call exciting, you missed Mr. Doffrey vomiting in the planter out in the hallway about twenty minutes ago.” Coulson says.

Clint’s nose scrunches up in disgust. “Ugh, nasty.” So far so good. He has a moment of self satisfaction at being able to carry a casual conversation twice in one day, even if it’s incredibly short so far.

Coulson nods then asks, “I didn’t catch your name?”

“Clint, sorry no one ever asks, I didn’t even think to offer.” Clint could kick himself, so much for all those lessons in manners too.

Coulson shakes his head slightly. “That’s alright, its why I asked. So Clint, how long have you been with Drummel? You look a little young to be security, do you have other duties?”

Clint shrugs, “Over four years now. I’m sort of his attendant I guess, the security thing is new.”

Coulson nods. “You’re pretty patient, standing all day.”

Clint looks over, surprised. “Isn’t that what you do?...I mean, isn’t that normal at conferences like this, to stand around for hours? Not that, that’s what you do everyday...Your job is probably different....” He clamps his mouth shut before he can say something even more stupid.

Coulson’s eyes crinkle at the edges. “Not quite, but I suppose it happens from time to time.”

Clint’s amazed at how Coulson makes everything seem fine, and mulls over what he’s said and glances over to Drummel, a sense of bleakness settling in the pit of his stomach. “I’m pretty sure everyone’s jobs are different than mine.”

Coulson looks at Clint, his voice taking on a more sober note. “You know Clint, you’re not stuck where you are, you have options.”

Clint looks up, wonders why Coulson suddenly looks so serious. And wow, nobody has ever said anything quite like that before, and not meant it to be threatening. He also knows it’s pointless, because he’s most definitely Drummel’s property. But however much he likes Coulson, there are things he’s just not allowed to say.  
“Sure, but I don’t think delivery truck driver or bartending are for me.” He smiles, trying to lighten things again.

Coulson opens his mouth to say something, stops and touches a finger to his ear, listening to something for a moment. “Sorry Clint, I have to go.” 

Clint’s face falls, but he covers it up with a shrug of his shoulders, “Your evening already sounds like it’s going to be more interesting than staying here.” 

Coulson lips quirk up. “Probably. If I’m not back tonight, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He says before walking quickly to the far door. Clint understands being on-call and watches Coulson leave, all the happy energy draining out of him with the other mans departure. He really enjoyed their short conversation, already missing the normalcy of it. He sighs, he supposes things like this shouldn’t disappoint him. The rest of the night drags on until Drummel and Theo retire for the night. This time Clint isn’t lucky enough to get away, and joins Drummel in his room, he just drops his head in dismay, he hates this. Well, maybe that’s a bit harsh, there are worse things.

The only good thing about these all day events is that Drummel doesn’t usually have the stamina for long sex. Clint gets on his knees and sucks Drummel hard, then stands to strip and crawls onto the bed and waits on his hands and knees for Drummel to get behind him. The older man spits on his dick and wipes the excess on Clint’s ass, rests a heavy hand on Clint’s back, positions his dick and thrusts slowly forward. Clint stays still; he’s well practiced, and clenches his eyes shut and breathes through the burn. He knows he’ll heal from this quickly enough, tells himself it’ll be over soon, it’s a mantra that usually gets him through sex. He tries to relax his ass and focuses on keeping his arms tense and back arched to hold Drummel’s heavy weight up, and to stop from sliding forward from each thrust forward. Drummel’s grunts and heavy breathing fills the room, sweat drips onto his back from Drummel’s flushed brow. Too much alcohol forces his owner to work harder for his orgasm; it’s not a good thing for Clint either. Just as he’s starting feel seriously chaffed, Drummel grunts and slumps halfway on him resting there a few minutes before pulling out and flopping down onto the bed.  
Drummel waves a hand. “Get out.”

Clint doesn’t bother dressing, just collects his cloths and goes back to his room, clenching his asshole tightly closed and pressing a hand to his spit slick anus, Drummel doesn’t like it when he makes a mess.

The next morning he enters Drummel’s suite to find his owner talking on the phone, looking agitated. He quietly goes to one of the armchairs in the sitting area to wait.

Drummel hangs up. “Has Kelvin been back to your rooms at all since we got here?”

Clint shakes his head. “No sir.”

“Anybody else been in your rooms?” Drummel asks. 

“No sir.” Clint’s starting to get nervous.

Drummel is glaring at him. “Put away your cloths, I want you as Koda today”

“Yes Sir.” Clint walks back to his room, undresses and shifts. The rest of the day is long and boring, and goes pretty much the same as the first two, but he doesn’t see Coulson at all. After dinner and drinks, Drummel escorts one of the ladies back to his room for a cocktail which leaves him with Theo, who takes him back to his Kennel shortly afterwards.

Kelvin doesn’t come back in the evening either, it’s quiet and dark in the suite. Theo didn’t bother to turn on the lights, just opened the door and shoed Clint inside. He lays in his kennel, tired but bored, and can’t help but hear Drummel fucking the blond in the next room. He’s grateful it’s her and not him, and settles in for a fitful sleep.

The last day of the conference, Clint goes through the same routine as the days before, still in wolf form. He doesn’t see Coulson again until dinner, where he walks up to stand beside Clint, who wags his tail happily in greeting.

Coulson looks down at him, hands clasped in front, looking apologetic and more tense than usual, “Good evening Clint. I’m heading out of town, but wanted to say that I had intended to find more time to speak with you, but things got a little hectic. We’ll meet again soon, at which point I hope we can talk again without chaperones.” 

Clint’s tail stills and his ears flatten to the side as he looks up at Coulson; he waited all day yesterday and most of the day today for him. His only company in years is leaving early, and he’s honestly upset about it. It’s ridiculous, he knows it, but maybe he’s just that fucked up, surely people don’t feel this way normally. 

Coulson looks back down at him, his lips pressed together. “Take care.” And with that, he walks out of the room.

Clint watches him leave, wondering what the man meant by his parting words, wonders if he should be looking forward to it, or be worried. And for that matter, how are you supposed to have a conversation with an animal that can’t speak back? Coulson was an odd guy. Wait..did he just call him Clint? Awww fuck, that wasn’t good. He ducks his head guiltily, anxiety rolling in his stomach. Coulson told Koda his name and about the woman in red, not Clint. Clint’s not sure how he missed this, all their interactions just seemed easy and seamless, and Coulson didn’t act any differently around him whether he was human or wolf. 

Maybe that was why, or maybe Clint was just so desperate for a semblance of a friend and too needy for normal contact. He could attribute it to anything really, but the fact of the matter, was that he fucked up. And now there was someone out there who knew what he was. He looks over at Drummel and Theo’s table; they’re laughing and drinking, totally immersed in their table’s conversation. He’s pretty sure they haven’t even noticed Coulson, maybe this wouldn’t turn out bad. If Theo and Drummel never find out, what’s the worst that could happen? 

 

 

Things seem to go steadily downhill from there, Kelvin never comes back. Drummel is more stressed out, and even Theo’s ever calm demeanor turns short with easily riled temper. Not a day goes by now where Clint is able to get a break from them, he’s either being yelled at or belittled and he can’t seem to escape getting bruised from somebody kicking or hitting him. It’s inflamed his own temper, he’s angry and scared all the time, and unlike everyone else, he doesn’t have an outlet for it.

It’s late fall and starting to snow, when Drummel and Theo Fly out to Los Angeles for a private meeting with Mr. Collins, the CEO of a company in the same industry as Drummel, they take Clint and Mark along.

They enter a high-rise in the middle of downtown in the evening, after closing hours. There’s still a reception lady and lobby security, but most of the offices are closed and quiet, there are very few people in the building. They ride the elevator to the twenty-first floor and walk down the quiet, grey hallway nearly to the end, and enter a door marked only with a number. Inside is a reception area with a coffee bar, a few arm chairs and a reception desk that’s empty. Collin’s and another, smaller, middle aged man greet Drummel and Theo. Pleasantries are exchanged briefly while they walk to the open door behind the desk that leads to a large office. Moments later the main door that leads out to the hallway opens, and two men, dressed in casual wear, polo shirts and slacks walk in. Everyone pauses to look, but no one says anything and the four business men continue to the office in the back, shutting the door behind them.

Mark moves towards the coffee bar, while Clint, in wolf form, sits by one of the chairs and watches the two strangers. The reception room isn’t very big, so he ends up only a few feet from one of them. It’s because he’s staring that he notices the one closest to him is twitching his fingers near the gun strapped to the belt near his hip, it seems like a nervous gesture. Clint looks up at the guys face and finds the man staring intently at him. Clint’s hackles rise, the guys body language is agitated, something is off, maybe its instinct warning him of danger, Clint’s not sure, but he’s prepared when the man slides his hand over the handle of the gun, the action is smooth and quick. 

Clint leaps at the man, jaws opened wide and clamps them shut over the forearm reaching for the gun, his paws land on the man’s upper body, as he bites down with crushing force, feeling his teeth sink into flesh down to the bone. He pulls the guys hand away from the gun which is still in the holster. He heaves back his considerable weight, while jerking his head to the side, causing the man to stumble, pulled off balance. He lets go of the arm, when he see’s the man’s other hand swinging towards him, the overhead lights glinting off the knife firmly fisted towards him. The guy is in panic mode, but he’s adept and the tip of the knife sinks into Clint’s shoulder before he’s able snap his teeth into the man’s elbow, biting down hard before shaking the limb back and forth, shredding flesh and tendons. Clint throws his weight backwards and downwards to the ground in strong, quick pulls, but the guy grabs for the back of the arm chair with a bloody hand, managing to balance himself again with legs spread wide. Clint lets go of the arm, which dangles uselessly and moves to jumps up but takes a knee solidly to the belly, which knocks a bit of breath out of his lungs, but isn’t strong enough to knock him back much. He scrambles for balance before jumping up again, lips pulled back to bare his white teeth and successfully latches onto the front of the guys neck. This time when Clint pulls down, the guy follows.

Clint hears five loud bangs, all in quick succession but doesn’t stop. He shakes his head side to side, tightening his jaws until the guy he’s holding goes limp, completely collapsing to the floor. He stays where he is, teeth still secure on the guys twisted neck. Clint’s eyes dart over to Mark, who’s standing by the coffee bar, broken coffee pot in one hand, gun in the other. The second stranger lies crumpled on the floor in a pool of blood. Everything has happened in a matter of minutes.

Mark looks over at Clint. “Release, Koda.” 

Clint lets go, now aware of all the blood in his mouth, he licks the floor, dragging the flat of his tongue on a section of clean carpet, trying to get rid of some of it.

Mark yells, “All Clear Theo.”

The back door to the office opens, and Theo walks out, observing all the damage. The other three men follow slowly.

Collins jaw drops in surprise. “What the hell is this; you killed your own guys?”

Drummel scuffs. “Don’t be fucking absurd.”

Theo turns towards Collins. “I thought they were your security.”

Collins shakes his head. “I thought they were yours.”

The middle aged, short guy cuts in. “We better find out who they are, because gentleman, somebody just tried to have us killed.”

Drummel looks a little shaken, “I hope you have people to clean this mess up before the morning.”

Collin nods, “Yeah, I’ll call them now.” He turns and goes back into the office, Drummel and Short Guy following.

Theo looks over at Mark. “Quietly check the rest of this floor.” He looks down at Clint. “Clean him off first, this mess needs to stay contained.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it done.” Mark replies as he holsters his gun.

Clint looks around, there’s blood everywhere. It’s spattered on the floor, furniture, walls and himself. It must have been from all the flailing, he looks at the guy he attacked. The hired killer’s right arm is shredded, deep gouges where his teeth sank in, and long furrows where his long canines ripped through the flesh from shaking the limb so hard. But the guy’s neck isn’t that bad, there’s holes and blood, but nothing like the arms, he wonders if he broke it, or maybe crushed something important.

Mark grabs a handful of paper napkins from the coffee bar stand and wipes the blood off of Clint the best he can; from his muzzle, chest and legs mostly. “Good thing you’re mostly black, or this coulda been worse.” Mark smiles at him. 

Mark completely misses the fact that there’s a deep, slim hole in his shoulder, it throbs now that the adrenaline is fading. Clint turns and licks at the still bleeding wound, worried what will happen if he bleeds onto the carpet. It’ll heal in time.

Hours later they finally get to leave and head back to Drummel’s private jet for home. On the plane Theo notices the still bleeding wound and wraps his shoulder awkwardly and a little too tightly, but it’s not like he’s able to tell anyone. 

Tonight was chaotic and bloody, like a scene out of a movie. He doesn’t regret killing the guy, that part almost feels...therapeutic. He wonders what that says about him, but with all the shit he’s been through, it felt good to tear into someone else. However with everything going wrong tonight he’s sure it’s not going to be good for him and he’s sure Drummel isn’t going to be calm about it, which means things are going to be shit for him again.

 

 

Drummel stays in Colorado for the next month, Clint wonders if he’s afraid to leave. Drummel never has many people over to the mansion, but starts entertaining women regularly. He’s pretty sure they’re hired escorts, he doesn’t give a shit who or what they are, so long as he’s getting out of servicing his owner every few days. Drummel get’s mean and creative when he’s bored. 

So when a car pulls into the driveway and the new guy, Nathan answers the door to escort the visitors to the west wing, Clint breaths out a sigh of relief. He’s in the common room watching TV, a fairly new privilege given to him for good behavior which is a surprise. The room is close enough to the front door he can hear everything going on.

An hour later Nathan walks into the room, he doesn’t think much of it, since the common room is where everyone hangs out, except for Theo and Drummel.

“C’mon, Drummel wants you in his room.” Nathan is a big guy, with short black hair and who always looks annoyed. And just like everyone else in Drummel’s employment, not an ounce of sympathetic emotion. Theo hired him nearly two weeks ago; Clint doesn’t like him at all. Nathan is too pushy and too handsy, like he’s some disobedient dog that needs to be man-handled everywhere.

The summons pisses him off, it’s not enough that his owner has whores over to entertain him, but now he’s got to get pulled into the mix as well. He just wants to sit on the sofa and watch TV, without the nervous anticipation of being called away to do something at any minute.

Clint glares at Nathan a moment before lowering his gaze to the floor and following behind the bigger guard to the main door to Drummel’s living room. Nathan knocks, waits for Drummel’s permission to enter then places a big hand on Clint’s lower back and pushes him forward; closing the door quickly once he’s through. 

Drummel is sitting on the sofa, beside him is a pretty young blond girl dressed only in lacy white lingerie, he averts his eyes quickly from her. What surprises Clint is the young guy sprawled in the big cozy arm chair, kitty corner to the couch, closest to the fireplace. Actually it’s all surprising, it’s not like he’s ever seen a half naked girl in person before either, but he doesn’t want to take a second look, afraid of the consequences. Nor has he ever been in a room with multiple half dressed people before. 

He looks over at the other young guy again. He’s bare foot, wearing only low slung blue jeans; his chest is bare and leanly muscled. Clint figures the guy is probably taller than him but it’s hard to tell with him sitting. He’s got wide shoulders, strong arms and a handsome angular face, smooth skin and pretty eyes.

He smiles at Clint. “Hi, I’m Justin. C’mere darlin’.”

Clint looks over to Drummel, who nods. “Go on Clint, listen to Justin. I wanna watch him fuck you, while Tiffany here rides my cock. Would you like that Tiffany?” Drummel is smiling lewdly at her, his hands already caressing her body.

Clint clenches his teeth together, fuck his life. Group sex, this is new, and definitely not as exciting as the movies portray it. 

Tiffany smiles and bats her eyes. “Mmmm, that sounds hot. Let’s get you out of your pants Harvey, I wanna get my mouth on your dick.”

“Fuck, you have a dirty mouth.” Drummel stands and drops his pants quickly.

“You haven’t heard anything yet.” She giggles and pushes Drummel back down to the sofa, settling on the floor between his legs and making wet, slurping sounds as she sucks and licks his cock.

Clint sighs, pulling off his shirt while he walks over to Justin. He’s never had to fuck anyone but Drummel before now, he wonders dishearteningly if this is going to become a regular occurrence. He stops half way to slip his pants, underwear and socks off. Naked, he moves to kneel in front of Justin, not sure about what he’s suppose to do. Justin helps him out by leaning forward and placing a warm hand at the back of his neck. He pulls Clint forward until their lips meet. Clint has almost no experience kissing; he concentrates on mimicking what Justin does. He opens his mouth when Justin does, and tentatively darts his tongue out to meet the other boys when Justin’s slides his along his lower lip. It’s wet, sloppy and hurried, mimicry of passion. Clint’s flushed; trying to get it right, half concentrating on the kissing while trying to pay attention to the noises that are coming from the sofa. It’s always in his best interest to keep an eye Drummel.

Justin pulls away. “Take off my jeans Clint.”

Clint does as he’s told, pulling the other boys pants down slender hips, revealing trimmed pubic hair and a big, hard cock. Clint glares at it, he just can’t seem to catch a break, of course Drummel couldn’t have found someone with a small or even average size cock to fuck him with.

Justin laughs. “Don’t worry Clint you can suck it, no need ta get angry, I’m not gonna withhold it from ya.”

“Wasn’t really what I was thinking.” Clint mutters without looking up at the call-boy.

“Go on suck it, be a good little bitch and get it all wet. I wanna see you get it all sloppy.” Justin fists Clint’s hair and drags him onto his hard length.

Clint grinds his teeth in frustration before obediently wrapping his lips around the head of Justin’s dick, the taste and shape is different than he’s used to, and he pauses slightly. The hand in his hair pulls harder, and Clint smiles inwardly, the little fucker can pull harder all he wants, but the angle of his cock is pushing in and up towards the roof of his mouth and teeth, he’s not getting any further down his throat.

“C’mon move your tongue more.” He tugs on Clint’s hair again.

Clint’s presses his tongue around the bottom of the shaft and head, adding some suction. Justin tastes and smells bitter, like olives gone bad. 

“Lick if from bottom to tip, and my balls, suck and lick them too, get everything wet.” Justin gazes down at Clint with lust hooded eyes.

Clint wonders if he’s high, then moves his hand to the base of Justin’s cock, and slides the flat of his tongue from root to tip, where he pauses to swirl it around the tip and then pops it back inside his mouth to suck and bob up and down on it a few times, before sliding his tongue back down to Justine balls. He presses Justin’s dick against the call boys tummy so he can suck on each ball in turn, there’s saliva sliding down to form a wet mark on the chair under Justin’s ass. Maybe if he hurries this along, he can leave quickly.

“Fuck, yeah that’s it, good little cock sucker aren’t you. Fuck you got me hard, you want my dick, you greedy little bitch?” Justin pulls Clint off his dick by his hair.

Clint, lips red and shiny, cheeks, nose and chin all wet from pressing against spit slicked flesh. “Not really.” He says flippantly, still annoyed. He wants to break the little fucks fingers, see if he can pull his hair then.

Drummel’s voice catches Clint’s attention. “Stop being a cheeky little fuck.”

Clint’s shoulders tense and he ducks his head a bit at the reprimand, not daring to look over.

Justin just smiles. “Fuck your sassy.” He shifts forward on the chair in order to stand up and move behind Clint. “kneel with your chest on the chair, arms above your head. I’m gonna give you what you really want. “

Clint wonders if Justin is the most unobservant guy on the planet, because his own cock is still soft, it’s obvious he’s not interested in sucking dick or begging to be fucked. He wonders if Justin just doesn’t give a shit and will do anything for money, or if the kid took something before he got here or maybe when he got here. Drummel has popped pills and other things during sex in the past, so it’s definitely possible his owner has supplied the drugs. 

He grinds his teeth together in an effort not to say anything stupid and moves into position, but has to cross his arms, hands resting on his elbows because there’s not enough room on the chair before he’s touching the back. Hopefully Justin will be quick, Drummel will still be distracted by the blond and he can go back to his room soon.

Justin kneels behind him and moves Clint’s knees further apart, Clint’s facing the fireplace his view mostly blocked by the solid leather arm of the chair, listening to the high pitched moans and throaty pleas from the blond on the sofa. She’s loud and demanding, but Drummel sounds like he’s enjoying all of it. Cold wetness on his anus momentarily distracts him, focusing again on Justin who must have had lube close by. There’s the sharp jab of fingers pressing into his ass, it burns a little, but it’s mostly annoying as fuck. Clint absolutely hates being prodded by rough fingers, it feels awful, the jabbing is always uncomfortable and he wonders what the fuck people find so hot about it. It just causes him to tense more; it never seems to be done as a courtesy to stretch the muscle. He tries very hard not to move away, but can’t help tilting his hips a little from side to side occasionally to lessen the intrusion.

“Fuck look at you moving on my fingers, so greedy for cock. Say you want it, tell me you want my dick inside you.” Justin is full on fucking him roughly with two fingers now.

Clint’s face is flushed hot with irritation, fuck he just wants to leave, but knows the consequences of doing so will be horrific. 

“Fuck.” It comes out angry, Clint swallows and tries again. “Fuck, I want you to fuck me with your big cock.” He really, really doesn’t.

Justin pulls his fingers out and pushes the blunt head of his cock in, pulls back a little then pushes forward a little further. It burns and is truly uncomfortable; a flush of sweat breaks out on his skin. There’s a pause in movement, Clint hears a pop as more cold wetness is poured onto his anus. Clint supposes he should be grateful for all the lube. Slick hands grip Clint’s hips before Justin thrusts forward in earnest, sinking all the way in and groaning loudly in pleasure. Clint sucks in a shocked gasp, not at all ready for the overly tight, hot, sharp stabbing this causes, his whole body tenses, and he has to focus on breathing. His moans are ones of discomfort. Fuck the guy is big. He reminds himself he has experience, he can deal with this, its familiar, just breath, but repeating it doesn’t really help all that much.

Justin fucks him with no rhythm; it’s fast and hard for a little while, but changes to slow and deep to quick and short then back again. The sounds the call boy makes are porn star worthy and loud. Clint tries to settle, but the girth on Justin cock makes him feel overly stretched and each time the guy changes angles or tempo, it twinges and burns, causing him to grunt and gasp. Sweat beads on his forehead, flushed from adrenaline maybe, or discomfort, he wipes it off on his arm. His flaccid cock swings between his legs.

The blond on the sofa yells out her coming climax, her moaning gets louder until finally she finishes and gets quieter. Giggling then begging Drummel to fuck her till he comes, asking sweetly for him to get on top. 

Justin stops thrusting, pulling back on his hips. “Lay down flat on the floor, do it slowly so my cock stays inside you.”

Clint doesn’t want to move to the floor, that position allows for deeper fucking and always pulls along the top of his anus, making it sting and ache more. Justin doesn’t wait, just fists his hair and jerks him up and backwards, it makes Clint hiss in annoyance, but he moves to lie down in front of the fireplace. Fuck, he’s already too hot. Justin straddles his ass and continues pounding into him, the hand in his hair moving down to tighten around the back of his neck. There’s more grunting from above, the fireplace making Clint sweat more, but the flames are hypnotic. Surprisingly, it doesn’t feel the same as when Drummel fucks him in this position. True it’s deep and he can honestly feel it deep in his guts, but not the god awful tearing on his rim that he’s used to.

“Oh fuck yeah, gonna cum in your tight ass, gonna make a mess inside of you.” Justins hips stutter and stop as he comes.

Clint finally takes a deep breath, and turns his head to glance over at the sofa. Drummel is still fucking the blond, but is watching Clint. He’s distracted when Justin shoves two fingers in his mouth; and it’s not even a conscious thought when he bites down on them. 

“Suck not bite, the fuck man, don’t be so rough.” Justin pulls his fingers out and away from Clint’s mouth.

Clint feels like he’s the only sane one here, how can this little fuck tell him, he’s the one being rough? It makes him angry; he wants to shove the little asshole off of him, preferably into the fireplace.

Drummel groans as he comes inside the blond, who coos and moans. Justin pulls out of Clint’s ass and gets up. Clint focuses on clenching his sphincter muscles together, preventing the mess from slipping out. But when he sits up, he still presses a finger against his anus, Drummel hates a mess.

Justin goes to the bathroom and comes back with wash cloths for everyone, Drummel must have left a stack of them out. 

Drummel sits back on the sofa, wipes his dick and says, “Nathan will see you two back out to your car, along with your payment. You can go now.”

The blond kisses Drummel on the cheek and hugs him before grabbing her cloths and heads to the bathroom. Justin joins her after collecting his own cloths. The water runs, and Clint assumes they’re showering. He keeps his gaze to the floor until they both leave, aware of Drummel’s eyes on him.

“Dogs bite, not people, Pup. You’re gonna be punished for that, and for your smart mouth.” Drummel’s stroking his cock, bringing it back to hardness.

Clint looks up and crawls over to the sofa, he knows the appropriate response to that, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. It won’t happen again.” It comes out sounding convincingly apologetic.

Clint knows the evening isn’t over for him yet, not while Drummel’s dick is still hard. They move to the bedroom, where Drummel fucks him, where he was gentle and careful with the blond girl, he’s rough and mean with him; fingers digging cruelly into his flesh, purely to bruise and hurt. 

“Did you like another man’s dick in you, like the way he fucked you?” Drummel asks.

Clint’s not sure what the acceptable answer is, but figures he has a fifty percent chance of getting it right so he goes with truth. “No.”

“I did, I liked watching him use you. Do you feel how wet you are, his cum still inside you, slicking you for my cock. It doesn’t matter what you want, only what I want.” He thrusts in deep, and grinds up against his ass, just the way he knows Clint hates it.  
Clint grits his teeth; ’No’ apparently was not the right answer. He’s not too surprised, he never gets shit right.

By the end, when Drummel finally comes, rolls over and kicks him out, he’s exhausted, sore and can’t help the slight limp to his stride. He collects his cloths on the way out to the bathroom near his own room on the east wing before he crawls into bed.

The next morning Mark wakes him up, tells him to shift and leads him out to the dog enclosure in the fenced-in courtyard. He bends down to buckle the thick collar on and the locks the chain to the ring, redundantly securing him inside. Clint thinks it’s ridiculous, there’s no way he could get out once the gate is locked. It’s been snowing heavily, but the courtyard, his dog run, and the driveway all get shoveled regularly. 

Mark pats his head before saying, “You know the drill, I’ll be back at dinner to feed you.” He locks the gate and goes back into the mansion.

Clint walks around the pen, and then goes into his dog house and lies down. Yeah he knows the drill, literally tossed into the dog house for bad behavior. It’s boring as fuck out here, and he doesn’t like being left alone for so long, but at least he’ll have time to heal and he’s away from Drummel. He wonders where Theo is. Not that the man is pleasant these days, but he’s worlds better than Drummel. 

It’s three days later, in the middle of the night when Clint is awoken by the sounds of snow crunching under the weight of multiple footsteps. But the solid courtyard fence makes it so he can’t see the rest of the property. It’s odd, he’s pretty sure it’s more than one person walking to the mansion. Maybe he didn’t hear a car pull up, or Nathan and Mark are out for a walk. He listens intently, hears the front door open and close, and thinks he was right. It’s minutes later when hears the distinct sound of gunfire, a long pause and then rapid fire bangs that last long moments. He darts out of his house and howls, alternating from short to long, he’s not really sure if it’ll make a difference at this point, but he figures he better in case Drummel survives. 

The mansion door to the courtyard opens and Clint stops, a man he’s never seen before stands there with a gun, looking around until he spots him. The stranger raises his arm and points the gun at him. Clint belatedly turns back into his dog house as loud bangs echo out into the trees. He yelps as he feels the impacts hit him in the hip and chest, the blossoming pain causing him to stumble and drop into the snow at the entrance of his house. He’s no match for guns; he knows he’s screwed, he frantically crawls back into his house for cover. He should never have howled, he has nowhere to run. He hears voices and listens.

“What the mother fuck, don’t use your weapon outside.”

“That wolf was making too much noise.”

“Yeah well, you made too much noise.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere, if someone heard, they’ll just assume it was a truck back firing or some hick with a gun.”

“Whatever, did you get the dog?”

“Yeah I hit it, let’s go.”

Clint listens to the door slamming shut, and their retreating footsteps as they exit out the front of the mansion and away from the property. He can’t believe his luck, relieved he’s still alive. Shuffling around to lie on his side with his head facing the open door, he groans long and low, he hurts. Eventually his breathing evens out and he settles in to wait, hoping Theo will come home and save him again. The night is quiet and still, the moon reflects off the snow and the dull thudding pain from his gun shots seep into his very core.

Unfortunately three days later, he decides in the future, should he survive this, to never piss people with guns off again. He almost wishes someone in the house survived because now he’s out here alone, hungry and hurting, with no chance of escape. He doesn’t want to die, he’s pretty sure his wounds alone won’t kill him...pretty sure...hopes he’s sure, they haven’t yet. But starvation and exposure are definitely contributing to his declining health, he feels like utter shit. His wounds aren’t healing, he thinks it’s because the bullets are still in them, still burning, the entrance sites still fresh and wet with slowly seeping blood. He eats the snow within easy reach, he’s so thirsty and the thought of moving seems monumental.

The next day Clint groggily wakes to the very loud sounds of a helicopter landing nearby, car doors slamming shut, and people talking. It all seems sort of surreal; he doesn’t have the energy to worry about all the commotion, whether it’s a good or bad thing, it kind of sounds far off still but can’t be certain.

But when three men burst through the courtyard door with guns, suddenly things are closer and definitely real. His heart beats a little faster in fear, and he stays still, hoping they won’t see him. However, like most things in his life, it doesn’t go the way he hopes. One of the men walks straight to his enclosure, bending down a little near the gate to pear inside at him. Clint’s still lying flat on his side; most of his body is hidden from view in the darkness of his dog house, with his head near opening, nose pointing out. He curls his lips up, showing teeth and growls.

The man straightens and talks into a small radio. “Sir, I found the Wolf, I’m in the courtyard. You’re going to need bolt cutters.” 

Minutes later a man in a suit walks through the door and over to the gate. Clint sort of tracks the movement of the new guy coming over, but the other guy near his gate is obstructing his view somewhat. When the suit gets closer Clint has a sense of familiarity, until surprise floods him with a welcomed sense of relief because its Coulson. He licks his lips and whimpers, tail thudding against the wood wall of his house. He can’t believe his luck, of all the people to come busting onto Drummel’s property when he’s in desperate need of help. What are the chances of that?

“Hi Clint, sorry I’m late.“ Coulson steps back as another guy in a black uniform cuts the locks off the gate with the bolt cutters and swings the door open.

Clint struggles to lay upright instead of flat on his side, the movement hurts, he’s stiff, sore and very, very tired. A quarter of the way up he gives up and with a groan rolls back down. He looks up at Coulson who is crouching down and inching forward with his hands out in front in a non threatening gesture.

Clint just whimpers more, and makes the monumental effort to move while on his side, pushing against the back of his house with his good hind leg and reaching forward to curls his paws over the open doorway. It’s slow and awkward and leaves him panting, blood darkens the snow in tiny sporadic droplets and smears from where its collected in his fur near his belly and legs. He only makes it maybe an inch or two before he’s utterly exhausted. He’s still wagging his tail though. He doesn’t want to be left here, and if he shows that he’s harmless, maybe it will encourage Coulson to help him.

Coulson frowns at the blood and the obviously injured wolf, but because of all the black fur, he can’t actually see the injuries. “Emerson, get a medic over here, and a board.”

“Yes Sir. “ One of the agents turns to talk into his radio.

Coulson kneels slowly down next to Clint in the snow. “We’re going to get you fixed up and taken care of Clint. I’m going to cut the lock off your collar so we can get you out of here.” One of the men passes the cutters back to Coulson, who brings them slowly to the lock looped through his collar and the chain.

There’s a bit of a tug, and a metallic clang as the lock is cut. Coulson then unbuckles and slides the collar off. Clint doesn’t move, he’s too tired, but he does enjoy the feel of fingers carding through the fur at his neck as Coulson pets him briefly.

“Emerson, we need to pull him out.” Coulson, looks back down at Clint. “I’m sorry, but this might be a little uncomfortable, but we need to get you out.” With that Coulson and Emerson both grab onto a front leg and on the count of three, they gentle slide him out of the house.

Clint yelps and whines, the pulling on his legs aggravates the wound in his chest area and winds him slightly, it hurts to breathe, movement period hurts his chest and shoulder.

 

Three more people rush up, two of them carrying a stretcher board, the other a bag. The women holding the bag stops when she sees Clint. “Uh, for the dog, Sir?” 

Coulson looks over. “Yes Agent, for the Wolf.”

She pauses, but walks over and crouches down, first looking at the blood, then running her hands gently over Clint’s body, from shoulder to hip. She finds the bullet wound in his hip; pressing the hair away to get a better look, but misses the one in his chest. “Gun shot, but there’s not much I can do except add pressure and wrap it, it’s not bleeding that badly.“ She pauses, looks over at Coulson then back down to Clint. “Let’s just get him on the board and on the chopper, we can do more for him back at base. We’re going to have to call a vet.” 

The other two carrying the board come over, placing it snuggly against his back on the ground in the snow. They brace their side with their knees, then reach over Clint’s body, two sets of hands grab onto him and pull him over and up onto the board. 

Clint’s sort of out of it, but aware enough to know what’s going on. But the sudden pressure and pain from hands moving him again, jolts him into pained aggression; he bares his teeth and growls, lifting his head a bit to stare threateningly at one of the guys who moved him. It’s all the energy he has though and he flops back down, the continued deep rumble of his growls hurt.

“Easy Clint.” Coulson’s voice grabs his attention again. “It’s unfortunate and I’m sorry, but we need to get you out of here and to do that, we need to get you on the board. They’re going to place straps over you, to anchor you to the board, this is so you don’t fall off. Do you understand me?” Coulson asks.

Clint stops growling, ok more like whimpering, licks his lips and thumps his tail on the board in a half hearted wag. He doesn’t have much of a choice, and if these people will fix him up, then at least he has a chance. He’s not sure what his life is going to be like now, but it’s better than dying in the snow alone. 

Coulson stares at Clint a moment, before nodding at the two medics to strap him in and load him on to the helicopter. Coulson stays with him for the ride and when they land, people meet them with a rolling stretcher, where Clint‘s board is transferred to and is rolled indoors. They go down hallways and an elevator, and into a room with lots of white, white curtains, white walls, white ceiling and overly brightly lights. There are tables and beds and stuff Clint vaguely recognizes from the few times he’s been in a hospital. It doesn’t look like Drummel’s lab, and that at least is a good thing.

A tall older man with a beard comes over, he’s holding a black clipper and grabs one of Clint’s front paws, stretching it out and shaving a patch of hair off the inside of his leg. Coulson is still there, and Clint moves his head to stare up at him. At least Coulson is the same as he remembers, still wearing a suit, smelling of musk, cedar and gun oil. There’s a poke followed by mild stinging, its not even note worthy, really. Clint’s familiar with I.Vs from his time in Drummel’s lab. 

Coulson looks at him, expression slightly pinched and says “It’s o.k Clint, you’re going to feel better soon, Dr. Molsa is an exceptional Vet.”

Clint turns his head so he can see the Vet taping the IV needle to his leg. A Vet? He’s supposes that sounds right... It’s not long before everything fades, and he falls asleep.

 

He wakes up groggy; his body feels heavy and numb at the same time. He looks around the room as much as he can without actually moving; the thought of tightening his muscles to move his head seems like a ridiculous amount of work. He’s in a dimly lit room, on a comfortable bed on the floor, the blanket he’s on is white and smells clean. He’s not sure if it’s just a pile of blankets or some sort of dog bed, he can’t actually feel a difference...he’s not sure why it even matters. Not a lot matters right now, except the wonderful feeling of being warm and cozy and oddly happy...which is weird. It’s also weird to be waking up feeling good, not to be hurting. It occurs to him, that they’ve probably given him drugs for the pain. Fuck, drugs are good; those ads on T.V with the caption ‘drugs are bad’ can suck it. He’s definitely going to be an advocator of this stuff, because he feels awesome. His eyes close and he drifts warmly back to sleep.

The next time he wakes it’s to the bearded Vet pulling off the bandage that’s wrapped around his shoulder and chest. Clint’s still super out of it, and can’t make himself care too much about it, or the poking the guy does at the wound. Clint’s vaguely aware of pressure, and being jostled a bit, but there’s no pain associated with it. His eyes drift close again.

“Hey now, not yet, let’s get you to your box to pee.” The Vet’s voice is low and gruff.

Clint opens his eyes again when the feeling of being lifted finally registers. The Vet and another, younger guy in white are each holding what looks like a white towel that’s slung under Clint’s ribs and half his belly. He forces his legs to work, and attempts to stand; his shoulder starts to throb and he feels like a rag doll. Nearly all of his weight is being supported as they move him over to the corner, where a large littler pan sits. If Clint could smirk he would, because it’s totally a litter box, there’s a metal grate overtop the litter that Clint limply stands on, so he’s not actually in the stuff. And he thinks that’s pretty smart, so tidy, smart people rock...Ha! He’s going to pee in a litter box. Crap, he sounds retarded even to himself, maybe the drugs weren’t all good...maybe there are some less than awesome aspects to them.

“Alright, be a good boy, go pee.” The Vets tone is re-assuring even if the words are stupid.

Clint, at the moment doesn’t mind too much, this is after all, kind of awesome. No one had ever gone through so much trouble to ensure he had a bathroom break before, that he didn’t make a mess all over himself. He concentrates on moving his hind legs further back and out which is harder than it should be, then hunkers down as much as the sling will allow, and pisses into the pan. It’s pretty awesome. He settles his weight fully into the sling, and just lets the guys hold him up. And that’s awesome too.

“Good boy, looks who’s so smart!” It’s the other guy praising him.

Fuck yeah he’s smart, who wouldn’t take advantage of this?

They walk him back over to the bed and lower him down and set him back to a comfortable position. The Vet pokes around at the wound near his hip a bit before standing up. “He’s healing really well, we don’t need to keep him bandaged, best to let the air on it. “

Clint simply passes out again. He wakes a few more times to the Vet and his assistant coming in to check on his injuries and then helping him to his litter pan. He’s not aware of time, just enjoys the comfortable feeling in his body and the ability to sleep so deeply. 

The next time however, he wakes up more alert, the lethargy that had encompassed him is mostly gone, the muddled, euphoric feeling replaced with confused wariness. He moves to lay upright, getting his bearings. The room is still dimly lit, and the door is wide open and surprisingly he’s not too terribly sore. He also has to pee.

With a grunt of effort, he heaves himself upright, a little unsteady, and really stiff in his injured hip and shoulder. His shoulder hurts mostly near the top of his should blade and down along his ribs, it throbs steadily now; radiating outwards throughout the whole area and down his leg. He stands there, head lowered waiting for things to settle, hoping the pain will fade just a bit. He adjusts his stance slightly wider, and something tugs on his other front leg, he looks down to see that he’s still attached to the IV. It’s at this point he also notices that someone went overboard with the clippers. His whole left chest and shoulder have been shaved, and both front inner legs where they’ve attached IV’s. Clint’s not sure why they’ve shaved both legs. He looks back and sure enough a large patch from hip to his tail and down to his knee is bald. He’s still got dried blood mixed into his fur, he can smell it, can see it in the grey patches. Great, he looks like a mangy street dog.

He huffs and moves to push the IV stand with the top of his nose in front of him, shuffling to the litter pan; does his business and limps slowly back to his bed to lay down. Sometime later, the Vet comes back in to check on him.

“Oh my, you’re looking good. It’s a wonder how fast you’re healing....so odd...“ He kneels down, checks the injured areas. “Even if you have been selectively bred...Can’t just be breeding...” He looks back down at the chart he’s holding, then back to Clint. “Maybe genetic manipulation...I’d love to work at one of those labs, these results are outstanding.” He starts to hum to himself, occasionally drifting into a bit of mumbled rambling. 

Clint’s not sure if the Vet is talking to him, or to himself. Because the guy certainly doesn’t know what he IS. Which makes him wonder if Coulson actually knows what he is; or if everyone here really believes him to be some sort of lab experiment? Clint’s not willing to become a lab experiment here; he’s spent the last five years avoiding it with Drummel. 

The Vet checks the IV and the monitor by the wall that Clint didn’t notice before, writes on his clipboard and then crouches down in front of him again and grabs his paw. “You don’t need this anymore, just proper food and water will be better for your body. Just going take this needle out....” He pauses, looking around the room. “Where did I leave my glasses, hmmm? Oh, well don’t really need them for this.“ 

Clint doesn’t agree with that, glasses and being able to see what you’re doing seems really important. The Vet pulls the tape off first and then slides the needle out, still muttering to himself, “Probably left them with the gauze on the table. This is what happens when I don’t get coffee, good coffee; the stuff they serve here is awful.” He presses his thumb firmly over the hole where the needle had been, stanching the little bit of bleeding.

Clint’s pretty sure now the vet is just a talker and wonders if it’s an occupational hazard when working with patients that never talk back to you. Thinks maybe it’ll be better for him with the Vet thinking he’s just a dumb animal. Clint’s not sure what he’ll do, he’s hasn’t actively thought of escape or freedom in years. But he doesn’t want to end up like Fox here. If he left, where would he go, who would take care of him? If he changes to human and wonders around whatever city or town this place is in, will the cops pick him up and throw him in prison for murder? He has no clothes, no way to make money, no home, no food, he has nothing. As a wolf, he’s liable to get shot again; people generally don’t like wild animals near residential areas. Where is Coulson? He sighs, his life sucks, and still unpredictable. The vet continues to talk, but Clint’s tuned him out, and soon enough the man gets up and leaves, shutting the door behind him.

The young guy from before comes back hours later with food and water, then leaves. Clint assumes this is dinner, and gets up and eats a little bit, he’s not really that hungry, then shuffles back over to his bed and falls asleep.

The next morning the door opens again and a woman brings in a bowl of kibble and a bowl of water. She places them down by the back wall. She looks at him a minute, smiling before walking over, hand stretched out to touch him. Clint bares his teeth and growls, but doesn’t move. It startles her into snapping her arm back to her side, and she nearly runs out the door. Clint’s had years of staying away from women beaten into him. Sometimes it’s best to stick with what you know.

Moments later two guys in white uniforms come in and look at him warily. “Should we sedate him?” The short one on the left asks.

“It’s weird, he hasn’t shown any previous aggression.” The other one says.

“I’m going to call Dr. Molsa back, maybe he has a muzzle or something.” The short one says and closes the door.

When it opens again sometime later it’s the Vet who walks in with the two from earlier behind him. The vet with back-up doesn’t bode well for him, fear slides cold and heavy through him, how did he already fuck up, he hadn’t even left his bed. Already cornered, he stands up, bares his teeth and growls, at a loss of what else to do, he doesn’t want to be completely defenceless and let them muzzle him. The vet stops abruptly and they all back out of the room and shut the door. Clint quiets, staring at the door shocked for a moment, but starts to feel oddly victorious; he would never have gotten away with that with Drummel. Alone again and with no idea what to do, he settles back down to wait.

He’s lying down when the door opens again not long later, Clint already has his teeth bared and is growling, you know, just in case it worked again. Coulson walks in, stops and looks down at Clint, unhurriedly reaching out to close the door. Clint stops growling, ridiculously relieved to finally see Coulson; the man has already saved him once, hopefully he’s back to do it again. 

“I wasn’t informed that you were awake and lucid, or I would have been down to see you sooner.” He pauses a moment, looking serious. “They don’t know what you are Clint, so I apologise if they’ve done something to upset you. If you’re feeling up to it, would you like to come with me, you’ve been here nearly a week” Coulson’s hands are loose and relaxed by his sides. 

Clint heaves himself stiffly up and wags his tail; he definitely wants to get the hell out of here. He limps up to Coulson, and presses his muzzle into the man’s open hand, hoping a display of docility and affection will convince him.

Coulson smiles, “Alright then, let’s go.” He turns and opens the door and walks to the front desk, Clint trailing slowly behind him. “We’ll be back down for check-ups, but Koda won’t be staying here any longer. Dr. Mosla, I appreciate all your hard work, but I believe your assistance won’t be needed for much longer. If you stop at HR, they’ll have a package for you.”

Dr. Molsa is holding a cup of coffee, his glasses dangling from his fingers, looking surprised. “Uh...o.k. If you need me to come back, I’d be more than happy to.” He’s disappointed with having to leave already.

Coulson’s expression doesn’t change. “I’ll let HR know you’re amicable to returning.” He strides out of Medical, the staff watching, somewhat agape at the Wolf, who had been aggressive not an hour before following obediently, without collar or leash. 

Clint ambles along, hobbling beside and to the left of Coulson, who slows his pace so that Clint can keep up. He’s still stiff and his shoulder isn’t working completely right yet, nor is his hip. They walk down hallways and up an elevator and down more hallways until they get to a door which is marked, Agent Coulson. Inside Coulson goes to sit at the desk; Clint follows obediently and lies down, exhausted; beside the chair, purely out of habit.

Coulson stops to look at him. “You don’t have to stay there; you might be more comfortable on the sofa.” He waits, but Clint doesn’t move. “I assume they didn’t mention anything to you about your injuries for obvious reasons. The gun shot in your shoulder ricocheted off your scapula and grazed your ribs, you were pretty lucky there. The wound in your hip went straight into muscle and missed your bone, which I’m told will be quick to heal. I imagine much quicker for you.” Coulson pauses but Clint only rests his chin back down onto his paws. He decides that things should be made clear as soon as possible. “Maybe it’s best if I explain some things to you immediately.”

Clint lifts his head to look up at him again, a sinking feeling of dread spreading through him; conversations like this are usually bad news.

“I work for a section of the government called SHIELD. We know a lot of things, and I know your both man and wolf, granted I don’t know a lot of details about that or you yet. We weren’t able to find your last name; and Drummel had no documentation about your life before he got you. We’re going through Drummel’s records which were stored at both his house and lab right now, and we expect to find more information soon. As of right now, you’ll be staying with Shield and I will personally oversee your care while you’re a Wolf. I’m not sure how or when you can shift, but your nature is being kept secret, there will be very few Agents who’ll know about you. With that in mind, when you shift, please do so in a secure location. With the need to keep your identity separate, and unless you have an objection to it, we’ll continue to call you Koda in this form. I’ll introduce you personally to the Agents who have been informed about you. We’re also searching for a dedicated physician to suit your particular needs. I don’t suppose you have any questions?” Coulson’s keen eyes study Clint, looking for any indication of comprehension.

Clint blinks up at Coulson, ears flattened in uncertainty, what’s he suppose to do here? And bits of the introduction speech eerily remind him of Drummel and Theo. He figures as far as new owners go...wait, so who owns him, Shield or Coulson? And what about the tracking implant?

Coulson’s eyes soften as he takes in the hurt, mangy Wolf lying on the hard floor, he can still see flecks of brown in the grey patches of fur. “I really think it would be better for you to lie on the sofa instead of the hard floor, you’re still healing.”

Clint’s pretty sure that’s a command, even if it’s politely worded. He needs to keep Coulson happy, he’s still healing. He doesn’t want to do anything to garner disapproval and whatever discipline that might evoke. So he heaves himself up and limps to the sofa, which ends up being pretty comfortable, it feels wrong though, he’s never been allowed on any furniture as Koda before.

At the end of the day, Coulson packs up his briefcase. “We’ll be staying in on-base housing for now, but first I’ll take you to medical for a bathroom break. When your shoulder is better, we'll go outside. Unless of course, you’d prefer to shift and use an actual bathroom?”

Clint just looks up at him, he has no intention of shifting, bad shit always happens when he’s human. He has yet to be seriously beaten as Koda and things are just generally easier as a wolf. But Coulson doesn’t demand or look put out, just waits a minute then opens his door and they head out.

On base housing, turns out to be really small rooms with a tiny kitchenette and bathroom. There’s a bag of dog food by the door and a stack of towels and bedding on the kitchen counter. 

“I’m not sure what you eat when you’re in this form.” Coulson looks at the bag of food. “Dog kibble? Steak?”

Clint paws at the bag of food, better to stick with what he knows.

“Kibble it is.” Coulson rips open the bag and fills one of the dog bowls by the door. They stand there a minute looking at each other, before Coulson smiles and shakes his head. “They really went to town with those clippers. Hopefully you’re hair will grow back fast, no offense, but you like you should be wearing one of those big white cones.”

Clint looks back down at himself, yeah it’s a bad clipper job for sure. He looks up at Coulson huffs, then limps over to his bowl.

Days pass uneventfully into equally uneventful nights, it’s wonderful. And each day he feels better, his injuries steadily healing. He follows Coulson to his office, where he stays until Coulson takes him back to their quarters at night. Nothing much happens, and he’s grateful at the respite to heal without being left alone somewhere.

It’s a week later in the morning; Coulson is in the bathroom just putting his toothbrush away when he looks over at Clint. “Medical has declared you fit to slowly return to normal activates. I don’t mind the rooms here, but I prefer my own apartment.” Coulson says as he’s exiting the bathroom, straightening his tie.

Clint’s standing by the door waiting to follow Coulson to the cafeteria as per their usual morning routine. His ears flatten and he ducks his head low, he doesn’t want to be left alone here without Coulson. He doesn’t know anyone else and he’s gotten used to Coulson’s quiet, calm company. To sleeping in the same room and listening to the sound of Coulson breathing at night, it’s been incredibly soothing. 

Coulson frowns at the wolfs behaviour. “You’ll be coming with me, since you’ve so far proven to be reasonably passive and compliant. I’ve requested clearance to take you off base.”

Clint’s posture straightens and he wags his tail, showing his appreciation. Relieved is an understatement, he doesn’t want to be alone again. His fur has even grown out a bit, not that it’s a huge deal, but it’ll be less embarrassing when out in public.

“But you’ll need to wear a collar and tags and be leashed when off base in accordance to the City by-laws” Coulson looks like he’s waiting for some sort of argument. 

So Clint prances over and circles around his legs, then sits obediently at his side. Being leashed and collared is old news, and certainly not even note worthy. He wants to go out, being cooped up in side isn’t out of the ordinary but being able to go out and see the city would be great. His outside bathroom breaks are short and don’t really count.

Coulson smiles, “Guess that won’t be a problem then.” 

At the end of the day, a young Agent enters Coulson’s office and hands over a plain brown leather collar with tags attached and a matching leash, leaving quickly.

Coulson looks at Clint who’s sprawled on the sofa. “Ready to go?”

 

Coulson’s apartment is on the sixth floor of a swank high-rise building about thirty minutes from Shields downtown office, which he’s told is in New York. It’s large and bright with big windows, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a large kitchen with an island that has two stools on one side and a large living room. The sofa looks well used, with one arm chair and a large TV on a stand against the wall. It smells like Coulson, and faintly of lavender air freshener. 

Clint’s new routine consists of morning walks and breakfast, a car ride to the office, the usual stuff that makes up Coulson work days, car ride back home, walk around the block, dinner in front of the TV where Coulson may or may not do paper work, one more walk and then bedtime. Clint always settles by the doorway to Coulson’s bedroom, he never goes in, but he likes being close and Coulson doesn’t seem to mind. 

Clint follows Coulson everywhere on base, when he’s not allowed to enter certain areas or has to leave the room while Coulson has meetings in his office; he waits patiently outside the door. He only needs to bare his teeth and people leave him alone or give him plenty of space, and that makes him feel good, a new found sense of personal control. There are two people who keep coming around who don’t seem to be fazed by Clint’s posturing. Agent Hill, who interacts with Coulson on a daily basis; Clint’s pretty sure she’s someone important, and she’s introduced as one of the Agents who knows his secret. He’s not sure how to interact with women here; he’s still adhering to most of Drummel’s rules until told otherwise. So it makes him wary and nervous, he avoids any sort of eye contact when she’s around him. Coulson of course notices and gives Clint a considering look, brows furrowed, but doesn’t say anything. Clint has no idea what it means, but since he isn’t reprimanded figures he’s not doing anything wrong yet.

He’s introduced to Sitwell and told about a man named Fury, who Clint has never met. Sitwell and Coulson are friends and because of this, of wanting to please Coulson, he makes the effort to be affable with the other man. Although to be fair, Sitwell is unfailingly friendly with a quirky sense of humour; he’s also a little too tactile, always ruffling his fur and patting him. Clint’s pretty sure it’s out of humour, he just can’t figure out why it’s funny yet. He looks to Coulson whenever he’s uncertain of something, for an indication of what he should do. But when it comes to Sitwell, Coulson’s face usually has that amused half smile, so Clint figures being amicable is the best course of action. 

Clint’s on the sofa in Coulson’s office, when the Agent puts down the papers he’s been reading for the last hour. “Clint, we’ve sorted out most of the information we gathered from Drummel’s holdings. And from what I’ve read, it indicates you’re able to change at will... I want you to know that you can change anytime you want. I’m not sure if you’re waiting for something, and I don’t want to pressure you, but there are some questions I would like answered.”

Clint perks up listening, he wonders what sort of information Drummel had about him, did he keep a log of training, of day to day stuff, did he keep track of all the perverse shit he did so he could look back on it with glee? That’s the sort of stuff he doesn’t want anyone finding out. But he never took Drummel as the journal type. Theo on the other hand, might have kept track of certain stuff, it was his job to care for and train him. He wonders what kind of stuff the lab kept, or if SHIELD found the frozen remains of Fox. What sort of questions could Clint possibly answer?

As if reading his mind, Coulson continues, “I’d like to know what your last name is Clint, among other things. We’ve still been unable to find much on you, and it would help. Do you have family, people looking for you?” 

Clint doesn’t want to change, he’s safer and things are easier as Koda, they always have been. Things with Drummel got worse when he got older and had to attend to the man as human. He hasn’t been ordered yet to shift, knows he’s already pushing boundaries by refusing, knows he needs to do something to at least try and appease his owner, and Coulson has been good to him. He hops off the sofa and goes to the desk, gently takes the pen from Coulson’s hand with his teeth, pops a paw on top of some papers on the desk and waits, looking up.

Coulson stays still a moment; he eyes Clint speculatively, then leans forward, takes the pen from Clint’s teeth and rummages around in a drawer for a blank sheet of paper to write on. Clint places his paw back on the floor and waits for Coulson to finish writing. 

Coulson holds up the paper, and Clint sees that the alphabet is neatly scrawled on the page. “I’m going to point to the letters, and you’re going to indicate which one you want me to write down.” Coulson says.

Clint throws his head up and yips, pleased with the idea. It’s better than his half thought-out plan of attempting to write, he doesn’t think teeth and pen to paper would have been all that legible. He pops a paw on Coulson’s knee for every letter he wants, sits back and yips when he’s done.

Coulson looks at the paper he’s written on. “Barton. Is that your last name?” 

Clint yips again. 

“Anything else you want to tell me?” Coulson pauses, paper with the alphabet still held up.

Clint gets up and goes to lie back down on the sofa, there’s not much else to say. The fact that he can just get up and walk away without waiting to be released feels like rebellion. Granted it’s almost a negligible thrill when Coulson doesn’t even bat an eye....Almost. 

Coulson doesn’t ask any more questions for a while.

Its days later and Clint is following Coulson down the hall towards one of the debriefing rooms, the area is busier than usual, but some days are like that. But what is unusual, is the strong odor of bitter almonds. He’s can’t remember why that’s suppose to alert him, if it’s a bad thing or simply just odd in this context of environment. It’s been so long since his classes with Theo.

Henderson, the junior agent who’s always blushing and fawning around Coulson is walking towards them from the opposite end of the hallway carrying two paper cups of coffee. She’s smiling and heading straight for Coulson, probably to offer him the second coffee. He finds her entertaining, because no matter how often Coulson; who’s perfectly professionally polite, gently brushes off her advances; she steadfastly keeps courting his owner. Coulson does however; always take the coffee she brings him.

The smell gets stronger the further down the hall they get, closer to the briefing room, and it’s bugging him. The smell is reminiscent from his early training for distinguishing dangerous chemicals...That was it. Something about the smell was dangerous. He licks his nose and drags the air in slowly, tasting it, trying to figure out where it’s coming from. He also doesn’t want to make a scene if this is common place, and he’s not really sure what it is.

Henderson stops a few feet from Coulson, with a soft, “Hi Agent Coulson, I thought you might want a coffee from the shop down the road instead of the stuff from the cafeteria.” She smiles and extends the cup out.

It’s her, the smell is definitely on her, and she’s trying to give something that may be potentially poisonous to his owner. His hackles rise and he moves between them slowly but solidly, squares his body and lifts his lips to show as many teeth as he can but doesn’t growl, until she steps back a few feet in surprise. He doesn’t want to attract a lot of attention in case he’s making a fool of himself. Clint sits down as soon as she’s moved away and looks directly up into Coulson’s questioning eyes. 

Coulson pauses a moment looking down at Clint, “What Koda?” 

Clint of course says nothing, just continues to stare, hoping the other man will figure it out.

Coulson looks at Henderson who’s staring back with wide eyes, still holding one paper cup out towards him. Then back down to the wolf who’s staring up at him, Clint has been consistently unfriendly with women, but has never shown this level of aggression before, and certainly never around him. He’s unsure if this behavior is related to that animosity or something else. He steps to the side to move around the black Wolf.

Clint growls, frustrated and at a loss of what to do, because he knows Coulson has no idea what he’s trying to say, wasn’t trained like his previous warden and guards were.

Coulson stops, Clint has never growled at him before. He looks at Henderson again, she’s still holding the coffee’s and hasn’t moved, she’s looks calmer now, probably trying to figure out what’s going on as well. He looks back down at Clint, who Drummel used as personal protection. “Henderson, are you carrying something that I should know about?”

She shakes her head. “No, Sir.”

“I want you to stand still and not move, understand?”

Henderson nods, looking a little more relaxed and brings her arm back towards her.

Coulson looks at Clint who’s still staring intensely at him. “Show me Koda, what is it?”

Clint’s ridiculously relieved with the command, he stands and walks over to Henderson, it’s easy to find where the smell is the strongest, he pushes his nose firmly into the low thigh pocket on her pants. He sits down and looks back at Coulson.

“Agent?” Coulson asks expectantly, waiting for an answer.

Henderson juggles one cup on top of the other in one hand and reaches into her pocket, pulling out a very small, tubular black container the size of a travel pack of Tylenol. “Oh, I guess I still have some stuff from the op, it’s the Cyanide that Agent Berkley requested, but she didn’t actually need it. I’m sorry, I must have over looked it when I was dropping supplies off on Level eight.”

Clint moves to sit back beside Coulson, feeling unsure about the situation, now that it’s obvious there was never anything to worry about. He cringes inwardly, he doesn’t know yet what sort of reprimand he’ll get for growling at Coulson, it was a bad move. The last time he did something so foolish he’d ended up shot, beaten and spending weeks in the Lab. 

Coulson nods. “File a report and drop the tablets off after the briefing.” He looks around at the few people who have stopped to watch. “Back to work Agents.” 

A couple of them eye Clint speculatively as they pass by. Clint looks up at Coulson, who’s looking back, and slightly hunkers down submissively, ears flattened to the side of his head; trying to show that he’s sorry and appropriately submissive. He can’t decipher the expression on Coulson’s face; it’s sort of blank, nothing to indicate the mood he’s in. Coulson has never shown any indication towards violence with him, but there’s always a first time for everything, so when Coulson opens his mouth to speak, Clint smoothly lowers to the floor, resting his chin flat on the floor between his paws, Drummel had always liked this.

Coulson pauses in what he was going to say, frowning at the frightened display of the wolf laying on the floor. Choosing his words carefully, he says. “That’s an impressive sense of smell Koda, maybe we can utilize that in the future. Wait by the door, this debriefing might be awhile.” He figures the best course of action is not to make a big deal of it.

Clint rises back onto his feet to slink behind Coulson to lie down beside the door to the briefing room. He hates waiting for punishment, it makes things worse; he just cowered in public and made an aggressive move towards his owner. He’s pretty sure he’s in for a world of hurt later, when Coulson takes him home. 

Coulson collects him hours later and they go home as usual. Clint’s on edge, anticipating the repercussions of his blunder; his ears flattening against his head every time Coulson looks at him, but the Agent never makes a threatening move against him. He doesn’t bring up the incident at all; and in fact acts like it never happened. By the time Coulson climbs into bed and turns the lights off, Clint’s exhausted from the stress of waiting for something to happen. Still leery, he curls up on the floor against the wall near the door to Coulson’s bedroom, but he doesn’t sleep well. 

In the morning Coulson stops and looks at Clint, who still has his tail tucked between his legs. “Clint, I’m not sure what you’re expecting me to do, but I would appreciate it if you stopped making me feel like an evil brute. Yesterday was an unfortunate incident of miscommunication, and a pretty minor one at that. Things like that may happen again, because as of right now, I’m not able to decipher what you’re trying to tell me all the time, or even half the time.” Coulson stops a moment, letting Clint process that. “Do you understand that I’m not upset? “

Clint un-tucks his tail, and straightens his ears tentatively. He’s been lied to in the past but he’s pretty sure Coulson doesn’t play mind games, at least pretty sure. He also realizes that his current behaviour might be making the Agent look bad and he understands that a public reputation is important. 

 

Later that day, when they get back from a meeting in Fury’s office, Coulson says, “I have to leave for a little bit, I’ve been on stand down to deal with you, but something has come up which requires my presence. “ 

He’s been with Coulson for nearly a month and the announcement comes as a surprise. Nothing about the Agents behaviour today indicated Clint was going to get bad news; because Coulson leaving him is certainly bad news. He moves to sit beside the Desk. Up until now he’s gone everywhere with Coulson but he’s not so sure he’s being taken. He looks up and tilts his head a little to the side, worry already gnawing at his gut.

Coulson eyes soften, “I’m sorry Clint, you’ll be staying on base while I’m gone. Agent Sitwell has been assigned to look after you, I thought it best since you’re comfortable around him. I’m not sure how long I’ll be away, but try to be patient with him.” 

Clint doesn’t want to be left behind, he doesn’t mind Sitwell, but being in another’s care makes the heavy weight of dread in his chest sharpen. Will Coulson take him back when he returns from where ever he’s going? Or is this his punishment for the other day? 

Coulson turns and starts collecting some papers on his desk, placing them in his briefcase, gets up and goes for Clint’s leash hanging up beside the door. “I know this is abrupt, but I need to leave within the hour. I’ll take you to Sitwell’s office.” 

Clint doesn’t know how to express what he wants, because it’s never been an option. He’s been taught how to behave, to be contrite, submissive and so many other things when expected. So he settles, it sucks but disappointment is a common theme in his life. He figures right now Coulson doesn’t want him to beg, but to be obedient, so he moves to sit beside the Agent, and lifts his head so Coulson can clip the leash to the ring on his collar more easily.

Coulson rubs the top of his head, running his hand down his neck to pat his shoulder twice. “Let’s go.”

When they get to Sitwell’s office, Coulson unclips his leash and hands a piece of paper over to the other Agent who’s sitting at his desk. 

Coulson says. “I wrote out instructions for his care, and some other useful information. “

Sitwell smiles. “Of course you did. Don’t worry Phil; he’ll be in one piece when you get back.”

“I wasn’t worried.” Coulson drops the leash on the desk.

Sitwell just nods, still smiling.

Coulson stoops down and pets Clint’s head again before leaving. Only when the door clicks shut does Clint look over at Sitwell. The phantom touch of Coulson’s hand still lingering along his fur.

Sitwell looks at Clint, a small frown on his lips, “I’ve always preferred the two chair set up in my office, and I don’t think you’re going to fit in them. I suppose tomorrow I can have a dog bed brought in. I hope you’re alright with the floor for now.” It’s apologetic and earnest. 

Clint moves to lay down behind the two armchairs by the far wall; he has no interest in Sitwell right now, even if the guy is ridiculously nice. 

At the end of the day, Sitwell hooks the leash on and they go for a walk outside for nearly an hour, it’s nice out and they amble along leisurely. They come back into the building where Sitwell unclips the leash and they head for the cafeteria. Clint lies down as expected beside his chair and waits, grudgingly admitting that so far, Sitwell has been pretty easy to be around.

Afterwards Sitwell takes Clint to the room he shared with Coulson when he first arrived at Shield, the place still smells faintly of him, and it eases the tension in his chest a little bit. Sitwell fills the dog dish with food and re-fills the water bowl, Clint stands there and watches him, getting the feeling that he’s about to be left alone.

“O.k. Clint, so the plan is for you to spend your nights here, I’m going home, but I’ll be back early in the morning for you. Being with me isn’t going to be that different to how you were spending your days with Coulson, except I’m not authorized to take you home, which is probably for the best, since my apartment has a no pet policy. I have fish, but they don’t count.” He smiles down at Clint.

Clint takes a sniff at his food, turns and goes for the small sofa in the tiny living area and flops down.

“Ok, good talk. See you in the morning.” The door lock clicks.

He waits until he’s sure that nobody is coming back before he goes to his dish and eats. He walks around the tiny place already disliking the emptiness of it, ending up in Coulson’s room; the smell is stronger in here. He lies down on the floor beside the bed. It’s too quiet.

The next morning Sitwell comes back and the day isn’t that stressful, or all too different. Sitwell seems to have more to do with the Junior Agents, there’s a steady stream of them in and out of his office, and they all look at Clint curiously. Stillwell also leaves his office more frequently, they stop at medical, the gym, HR and a few other places he’s never been to with Coulson, who was regularly in and out of briefing rooms; Hill’s and Fury’s offices and on floors where Clint wasn’t allowed to go. If this is the sort of things that go on in Government agencies, the movies have it all wrong; it’s not exciting or full of drama at all. In fact, it’s very similar to all the business places Drummel took him to.

At the end of the day, earlier in the evening than the night before, they go for their walk. There’s still sunlight peeking out of winter grey clouds, and a couple of inches of new snow on the ground but it’s no longer snowing and the air is crisp but not too cold. Sitwell seems to really enjoy it, a ridiculous smile on his face as they meander through streets until they find a dog park. 

Sitwell’s tone turns facetious. “You know, I want a coffee so we can go and mingle with the other yuppie dog people in the park. You’re going to need a less intimidating name, something like Toto, or Benji, maybe Spot...” 

Clint looks up at the smiling Agent and just huffs, but is secretly amused. They walk a block to the next coffee joint, and then back. It’s a decent sized park, trees, benches, children’s play area and a fenced, medium sized, off-leash dog area. Sitwell leads him into the dog area and over to the five other people, three of which look on in horror as they come up to them near one of the benches.

Clint sits obediently when Sitwell stops beside a portly, middle aged woman. Her eyes are wide, as she frantically bends down to protectively pick-up her ugly as shit, scruffy little dog. Clint’s not sure what it is, but it’s the size of a football. 

Clutching her dog to her chest she asks, “What is that, what breed? Is he friendly?”

Sitwell takes an un-hurried sip of his coffee, “Oh he’s just a mutt I adopted at the shelter, his name is Little Bunny, and he’s a love.” He looks down at Clint. “Aren’t you?”

Clint oddly enough is really enjoying Sitwell’s humour. And thinks, Little Bunny huh? Yeah, he’s ‘a love’ alright. He opens his jaws wide and clamps them very, very gently onto Sitwell’s leg, just above the knee, and doesn’t move. 

The man beside the portly women looks at them with something like panic on his face. “Uh, when did you adopt him?”

Sitwell just leans down and pets Clint’s head. “Today.” He takes another sip of coffee. “The staff told me this is just a display of affection, a result of the medication; completely normal.”

The shorter man on the other side of the portly women; wearing a formless, puffy yellow coat, scrunches his face in concern, “Medication?”

The portly women with the small dog steps back a few feet. “You know, it’s time for me to go.”  
Both men beside her also pick up their small dogs and leave the park. 

Sitwell just smiles and continues to look completely unconcerned. Clint releases his hold on the Agents leg and nuzzles into the man’s hand, wanting to affirm he meant no ill will with the presumptuous fake bite.

Sitwell runs his fingers along his ears then turns and waves at the only other two men in the park. The come over to say hi, one of them eyes Clint warily, while the other grins and says “I thought those three would never leave, you want drama and gossip, start coming here on a regular basis. I’m James.”

Sitwell tips his coffee towards himself. “I’m Jasper and this is Little Bunny. I’ve never been to a dog park before. I’ve always had fish and can never get their little leashes to stay on long enough to take them out.”

James quirks an eyebrow up, but smiles good naturedly. The two large dogs finally trot over to investigate but stop a good few yards away from Clint, ducking their heads submissively before turning around to again run off and play with each other. Clint’s thankful; he has no interest in interacting with dogs. Sitwell and James chat for a little while before Sitwell wave’s good-bye. 

On the way back to SHEILD, they cross paths with a pretty young woman walking a slightly limping collie wearing a big white cone. 

Sitwell looks down at Clint. “Just so you know, you looked more ridiculous than that, when you left medical. And when your hair started growing back, you looked like Cujo with a bad case of mange. Coulson’s a brave man taking you out in public like that.”

Clint tilts his head to the side, giving the other man a one-eyed stare and snorts good-naturedly. At least his hair grew back; it’s more than he can say for Jasper. 

Sitwell smiles; completely oblivious to Clint’s thoughts. “Thank god you’re all teddy bear fluffly now.” They walk the rest of the way in comfortable silence.

Sitwell drops Clint off at his room late in the evening and fills both bowls up.

“Good night Lassie.” 

Clint huffs and grumbles, Sitwell is kind of a funny dick and he’s sad to see him go already. 

The next morning it isn’t Sitwell who opens the door to Coulson’s room to collect him. It’s a guy of average height with brown spiky hair and a day’s worth of facial hair; dressed in the shield all black uniform. 

The guys stops just in the doorway, looking at him with wide eyes, “ Holyshit, you’re a big boy. They weren’t kidding when they said wolf.” He sounds energetic. “C’mere Koda, let’s go for a walk.”

Clint stands there uncertain; nobody said anything about a change in people. Is he supposed to go, or wait for Sitwell? Should he be guarding Coulson’s room from strangers? Where the fuck is Sitwell?

The Guy takes a step forward and Clint growls, the safe bet, he decides is to at least keep strangers out of Coulson’s room. 

The guy backs up to stand outside of the room. “Easy boy, no need to be mean, I get it. I bet you wanna get out of there tho, so how about we get along, and I’ll take you out for some exercise. That sound like fun? “ 

Clint stays where he is, but now he’s really confused, what the hell is going on? Is this his new fitness trainer? Did someone decide he needed to bulk up again?

“C’mon buddy, I’ll even bring a ball.” He waits, smiling.

He’s pretty sure he should wait for Sitwell, the agent did say he was coming back this morning. But then again, who says they have to tell him when things are going to change. He sighs, his life sucks, he’s pretty sure he’s going to get this whole thing wrong.

The guys stands up straight, and with an authoritative voice says, “Koda, heel.” And points to his side.

Clint growls in response and backs up, this guy can take his commands and shove them up his ass, until he knows what’s going on, he isn’t leaving.

The guy digs a phone out of his pocket, dials and brings it to his ear. “Sir, its Robinson.“ Pause. “I’m not able to get the wolf out of the room, and I’m pretty sure if I force the issue I’m going to get bitten. I can tranq him with just enough to get him dopey, he’ll be easier to handle then.“ Pause. “Uh....Yes Sir” He lowers the phone a bit, and looks at Clint and with an incredulous expression says, “Sitwell has been called away, I’m here as your temporary handler.” He brings the phone back to his ear. “ Yes Sir...... I’ll call back if I have further problems.” He hits a button and sticks the phone back into his jacket pocket, then says, “So here’s what’s going to happen, either you’re going to listen to me and we’re going to get along fine, or I’m going to sedate you and drag your ass out of this room with a few other Agents.” Robinson looks at Clint, then rolls his eyes. “I don’t even know why I’m supposed to tell you this; reasoning with a dog is stupid.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Well, what’s it gonna be Wolfy?”

If Clint could glare right now, he would, as it is, he realizes when he has no choice in what happens to him. He’d feel better about this if Sitwell was here to tell him in person about Robinson, instead of a phone call, cause that doesn’t seem totally legit. But screw it, if they can’t be bothered to inform him of what’s going on, he’s not going to take responsibility for possibly fucking up, and listening to some ‘nobody’ when he should be staying in this room. He sits down.

Robinson raises an eyebrow. “O.k, good boy.” He tentatively walks forward a step, and then another when Clint doesn’t react negatively. He reaches for the leash on the counter, and bends down slowly to clip it to Clint’s collar.

Robinson tugs on the leash and says “Heel Koda.” 

Clint huffs but moves to stand at Robinsons side, his back is almost level with Robinson’s hip. 

“Good boy.” Robinson sounds happy. He shortens the leash so that his hand is nearly to Clint’s collar, and walks out the door.

Clint wonders where Robinson thinks he’s going to run off to, but follows obediently. They go down the halls where Robinson stops to chat with people, each time he tugs the leash and commands “Sit” when he stops. It’s annoying; he’s not stupid and doesn’t need to be reminded every time. 

They make it outside and Robinson gives Clint the entire length of leash, telling him to go pee. They walk around for much longer than Clint’s normally out in the mornings, and even though he’s kept close to the man’s side on a tight leash again and commanded to stop and sit at every street crossing, it’s good to be outside, it’s crisp and cold out but dry. 

By the time they get back to Shield Clint’s thirsty and hungry. Robinson takes him to a floor Clint hasn’t been to yet, it’s full of different gyms and work out rooms. At the end of the hall, they go through a door into a large room the size of Coulson’s apartment living room and kitchen combined. The floor is concrete and the walls are an off white, near the door is a large industrial shelving unit filled with random workout items such as gloves, gymnastic equipment, weights and balls. On the other side are boxing bags and floor mats leaning against the wall. And at the far end of the room is a tall, square chain link kennel, the panels are maybe eight feet by eight feet, inside is a dog bed and two bowls. 

“C’mon, let’s get you fed and watered. I’ll be back later and I’ll take you to the indoor obstacle course, give you some exercise.” 

Clint hesitantly follows, stepping into the kennel. He waits until Robinson leaves before he eats. The space looks like a storage area, recently cleaned up and converted for him. There are no windows, and the place smells of plastic and sweat. It sucks; he doesn’t want to be here.

Robinson comes back later, hooks the leash on and leads him to the gym with the obstacle course down the hall. The gym is awesome, ropes, ladders, jumps, things to crawl under or through, even indoor rock climbing on one wall, so much stuff and it all looks sturdy and well used, but moveable, so people can create different routes. Right now the place is empty.

Robinson tugs on the leash again with a “Sit Koda.” Then unclips it and pulls a ball out of his pocket. “Ready? Want the ball?” He tone is playful and enthusiastic.

Clint looks up, the Agent is smiling down at him while waving the ball around in his hand. It’s kind of funny and he watches as the man throws the ball across the room. 

Robinson looks down at Clint. “Go get it!”

He’s no longer amused, and thinks ‘You go get the fucking ball.’ 

“Get the ball Koda” This time it doesn’t sound playful, but vexed.

Clint sighs to himself, gets up and trots out to find the damn ball and brings it back.

Robinson points down to his feet and says, “Drop it Koda.”

Clint wonders what real dogs think of this bullshit, but drops the ball at the Agents feet. Then thinks back to every dog he’s seen, and decides that dogs are blissfully stupid because they love this shit.

“Quicker this time Koda, go get it!” He’s back to sounding enthusiastic.

Clint decides what the hell and runs for the ball, leaping over some of the equipment, finds the ball and brings it back. Robinson continues to throw it, and Clint gives in and retrieves it every time. By the time Robinson stops throwing the ball, he’s panting, sides heaving with exertion, it’s been awhile since he’s been allowed to run. He sits in front of Robinson’s feet waiting, feeling a little self conscious and peeks around the Agent to the open door, but no one’s there to see him waiting for the ball.

“Good boy, time to go.” Robinson clips the leash back on and tugs sharply again. “Heel.” 

They leave the gym floor and go down to the building’s main lobby on the ground floor. Where they stand beside one of the elevators for hours, in what Clint assumes is guard duty, with three other guys all stationed in different areas. At least this is something he’s used to, it’s boring but familiar. At the end of the day, they go for another walk around the block outside then Robinson takes him up to his Kennel and locks him in for the night and flicks the light off. 

Clint curls up on his bed, starring at the slim patch of light stretching in from under the door forlornly, he misses Coulson. He wonders if he behaves well enough, if Coulson will take him back. He doesn’t want to be left alone here at night, it’s too dark, it doesn’t smell right and the sounds echoing from down the hall, makes him all too aware of people just on the other side of the door. It feels like he’s just another discarded piece of gym equipment.

The next morning Robinson comes to collect him, chipper as usual but even though he’s been alone all night, he’s not that enthused to see the agent. Throughout the day Robbinson jerks back on the leash with each ‘Halt, Heel or Sit’ command, it’s driving Clint crazy, he can’t help the growing agitation. Passed off to Robinson, being treated like nothing more than a dog, the loss of Coulson and Sitwell, it sucks more and more. 

He knows he just needs to ignore Robinson, there’s nothing he can do about it anyway, nowhere to go, and there’s probably no one else to take care of him. His life is shit, and he’s abundantly aware of the fact that it probably isn’t going to improve a great deal. Shield is a huge step better than being with Drummel. At least that’s what he keeps telling himself. 

“Blake!” A small blond guy calls out, walking towards them down the hall, a wide smile on his face. “When did you get another dog?”

There’s another tug on the leash followed by, “Sit.” They wait for the blond to reach them before Robinson replies, “Hey Grant, got him a few days ago, did you just get back?” 

“No, I got in yesterday, but racked out soon as I got to my quarters. You free for a drink later?” Grant asks.

“I’m usually done with Koda around nine.” Robinson says.

“So the dog?” Grant questions.

“Wolf.” Robinson smiles proudly.

“Holyshit, when did Shield start a canine program?” Grants eyes widened.

“No word that there is one. Coulson showed up with it over a month ago, but he’s gone for awhile so I’ve taken custody of him.”

“You got Coulson’s Wolf!?” The disbelief is evident on Grants face.

“I have experience why is that surprising? I did this for years before I joined Shield.” Robinson says with mock hurt.

“Because he’s Coulson’s Wolf, and you’re not even a senior Agent yet. Fuck, very cool man.” 

“Yean, it’s awesome, he’s already trained and crazy smart.” Robinson pats Clint’s neck with solid thumps.

Grant looks down at Clint. “Is he friendly? Can I pet him?”

Robinson pauses, looking down at Clint thoughtfully. “He’s kind of temperamental; I don’t think it’s a good idea to touch him.” He looks back up at Grant, “And apparently he doesn’t like women, I’ve been told to keep him away from them. Weird right? You’d think it’d be the other way around.” 

“Huh, odd. Anyway,” Grant claps Robinson on the shoulder. “I got to go, meet you for drinks at ten tonight?“ 

“Yeah, meet me in the mess hall, I found this great dive bar in the City, I’ll drive.” Robinson waits for Grant to nod, before he again, tugs on the leash. “Koda Heel.” 

Clint’s lips curl up in response, but he gets up and walks beside the Agent without making a noise. He’s used to walking beside and just a step behind, but Robinson likes Clint’s shoulders to be beside his hip, and every time Clint drifts back automatically, Robinson jerks sharply on the leash with an irritated “Koda Heel”

Mid-day, four days later, they’re down in the parking garage, walking around the different levels. Clint assumes this is some sort of guard duty, or security check, hell for all he knows Robinson is out of ideas of what to do during the day. It’s not like anybody, certainly not Robinson is telling him anything, he’s only able to listen in on the conversations around him, and generally those aren’t very informative, lots of small talk, and only bits and pieces of anything worth knowing.

They’re in-between a row of cars, when Clint zones out and falls back a step again. The collar digging into his throat, along with Robinson’s grating voice demanding him to heel like some dumb animal; brings the anger that’s been simmering all week to finally boil over. Maybe its Robinson’s lack of any real authority, or the continued absence of punishment from any of Clint’s prior transgressions during his time here, whatever it is, he’s finally had enough of this bullshit. He stops walking, bares his teeth and growls threateningly.

Robinson turns to face Clint, the short length of the leash is taught, and he tugs it roughly forward again in a reprimand. “Hey! Bad dog, don’t fuck with me Koda.” 

Clint just snaps his teeth at the Agents hand holding the leash, he gets close, causing Robinson to release the coiled length a bit, and Clint takes a step back.

“Not a smart move.” Robinson pulls the sidearm from his left side holster. “Koda, Sit!”

Clint knows he’s no match for weapons, but he’s succeeded at close range before and won, and with minimal injury too. But there’s a line between misbehaving and seriously injuring or killing one of Shields employees, and he’s pretty sure that won’t be so forgivable. The best course of action would be to conceded and submit. That would be the smart thing to do. The last thing he wants to do though is to give this asshole his submission. 

He snaps his jaws again in a series of snarls and throws himself backwards, twisting and shaking his head, trying to either slip the collar or wrench the leash out of the Agents hand. 

Robinson holds the leash tightly, bracing himself to stay standing against the heavy, erratic pulling while bringing his gun up to aim at the growling, struggling mass of black fur. He pulls the trigger repeatedly until he’s sure he’s hit the wolf, his aim is unsteady from being jerked around, the gun makes low pops that barely echo.

Clint is aware of the different sounds, just as he feels something bite into his chest. That’s when reasonable thinking ends and he lunges for Robinson. Robinson’s eyes widen and he lurches away, but Clint’s too fast and grabs him by the forearm. Clint clamps down, pressing his front paws on the Agents upper body, back paws on the ground and drops his body weight down and to the side powerfully, tugging Robinson forward and down to the cement floor.

From there Robinson is violently dragged forward to land on his knees, he drops the gun to grab around Clint’s muzzle; trying to pry him off while scrambling to get his legs back under him to stand back up. Clint doesn’t bite down harder, instead with all for paws on the concrete, he heaves the Agent backwards with him, tugging and pulling. Until Robinson has been pulled forward to collapse prone on his front, arms stretched out in front as he’s dragged. 

Surprisingly, Clint starts to falter, losing strength and co-ordination in sudden, noticeable drops. He wobbles to the side, drunkenly catching himself and releasing his hold on Robinson’s arm to better balance his weight; it doesn’t help much. 

Panic sets in quickly at his deteriorating loss of control, and it’s not until he’s at the end of the leash again, looking at Robinson who’s slowly sitting up, that it dawns on Clint that’s he’s been tranqued. The son-of-a-bitch actually tranquilized him. The floor starts moving, his vision begins to blur around the edges, and everything feels fucked up. He sits unsteadily, hoping to feel more grounded, but the pavement has turned to sand, sinking beneath him, it’s scary fucked up, and with a whine he wobbles to the floor where he slides over to his side. He’s unable to protect himself, alone in an area with the man he just attacked, on a heap of quicksand, he’s so screwed. Next time, he needs to, uh, think...wait...quicksand...quick cement...his tongue feels floppy....

Robinson’s still sitting on the ground as he pulls his sleeve up to take a look at his arm. There are no punctures, but the bruising is already spectacular. “Fucking unpredictable breed, who the hell trains a god damn Wolf. You’re lucky you didn’t break skin.” He looks angrily at Koda lying prone on the ground. “Fuck I’m going to get demoted.” He pushes off the side of the car he’s sitting beside to stand up. “You’re lucky you’re not under my complete authority, cause a dangerous dog isn’t acceptable. This shit would earn you a bullet.“ He walks up to Koda, still rambling on about the madness of having unstable animals in an area full of people.

Clint’s unable to do anything but watch the blurry figure of Robinson pacing in front of him, not entirely coherent.

After a while, Robinson finally takes out his phone. “Hey it’s Robinson, can you get Warren to meet me in level P5 with a muzzle to fit the Wolf and another leash?” Pause. “That’ll work, thanks.” He slips his phone back into his pocket.

Clint’s not sure how much time passes, but he’s starting to feel a little more alert and thankfully lucid; the ground isn’t eating him anymore and isn’t that a relief; when a second guy shows up to talk to Robinson. 

“What took you so long?” Robinson asks, not entirely a question.

Warren shrugs his shoulders, walking through a row of cars. “I was in the middle of something, Mike didn’t say it was urgent.”

Robinson sighs, “Whatever, thanks. I couldn’t leave him to get it and I think I’m going to need help getting him back to his kennel.”

Warren rounds the bumper of the car Clint is lying beside. “Oh, man, what the hell happened?” He passes the muzzle over to Robinson, taking in the other Agents disheveled appearance and the recumbent Wolf at his feet. 

“Stupid thing flipped out on me.” Robinson crouches down by Clint’s head, and manoeuvres the steel cage muzzle over Clint’s snout and tightens the leather straps over and around his head securely.

Clint growls and attempts to struggle, still weak and un-coordinated, he feels like jelly, but his vision is clear again and the room is no longer tilting and turning. 

Robinson clips the other leash onto the collar and then stands back up and looks at his watch with a frown. “He shouldn’t be this animated yet...maybe the dosage isn’t accurate for his size.”

“Probably, they wouldn’t give you something that wouldn’t be effective. Maybe you lost track of time.” Warren muses.

“No, this shit should knock him out for a good forty-five minutes at least, and he’s been awake the whole time.”

“Whatever, he’s down, just let the guys in supplies know later.” Warren suggests.

Clint’s trying to struggle to his feet; he’s wobbly and weak and slumps back down. So he lays upright panting, nose nearly touching the ground, waiting for his increased metabolism and whatever else his body does to clear the shit out of his system. Nobody’s actually ever told him why, it’s just the way things are. The concrete is cool on his feet and stomach, the parking lot smells of oil, rubber and funnily enough, old-greasy take-out. He can smell the sweat on Robinson and is bitterly pleased he caused it.

When he’s able to stand and more or less move with some semblance of co-ordination, he’s walked between both men, each of them tightly holding onto their respective leash, it’s effective in preventing Clint from reaching either of them. He doesn’t try to do more than twist his head to growl at both of them though. He’s still pretty weak by the time they pull him into his kennel, attaching one of the leashes to the chain link panel at the back corner. He’s still too out if it to cause much of a fuss, all he really wants is water and a nap.

Robinson looks over at Warren, “So we can get into the kennel without having to worry about him attacking as soon as we open the door.” 

“What are you gonna do with him?” Warren asks.

“I guess try and continue what I’ve been doing, but keep him muzzled. I have to report what happened to Hill, depends on what she wants done.” Robinson says.

They leave the room.

Clint drinks; it’s awkward at first with the muzzle then lays down on his bed, surprised that it doesn’t sound like anything terribly bad is going to happen to him. There seems to be some perks when people think you’re just a Wolf. Robinson is an annoying dick, but he doesn’t seem to be inclined towards cruelty. Agent Hill, however, knows what he is, so he supposes his fate rests in her hands. It makes him nervous about what’s going to happen. He huffs angrily, berating himself for stupid mistakes, for lashing out because he was angry with being treated poorly. How ridiculous is that?

The thought makes him pause; he just stood up for himself and got away with it. It’s an exhilarating thought, empowering even. Granted being angry isn’t new, but it’s been the primary emotion lately and he hasn’t been punished for it either. He just attacked his handler and nothing has happened. Sure he’s been muzzled and put back in his kennel, but that’s not really awful. He drifts off into an uneasy sleep. 

Later that evening Robinson comes back with Warren. Clint growls and rumbles, baring his teeth, he doesn’t want anything more to do with Robinson. They both ignore him and come into the kennel, each hooking a leash to his collar and walk him out. 

“I don’t think he’s going to get nicer.” Warren says.

“Nope, I don’t know why Shield wants to keep him. Least we’re only responsible for taking him out to pee now.” Robinson replies.

Clint follows them after he hears that, because damn it, he has to pee. But he growls and snaps every time they tug on his leash, and doesn’t bother listening to any of Robinson’s commands, the guy can suck it. And holy shit he’s never been able to get away with anything before, certainly not this level of on-going aggression. And it feels good, it’s good to snarl and snap instead of cowering in fear. 

But as the days pass by with much the same pattern, Clint doesn’t feel relieved with the tolerant ministrations from Robinson and Warren, like he thought he would. Instead when he’s brought back to his kennel, enclosed in a room filled with storage stuff, illuminated with an overly bright light, smelling of dust, plastic and sweat, devoid of much sound or anything to kill the time; he stews in the unfairness of his life. He hates being tossed alone into a room to spend unending hours in a small space. He hates that some days he looks forward to the Agents coming back to take him out. He hates his collar and the muzzle that never comes off. Hates that Robinson was inventive enough to find a deep enough dog bowl, where Clint has to press the wide slats of the muzzle into his food to press the kibble past the muzzle so he can eat. Hates the tightness of the straps around his head, he’s drowning in a torrent of tumultuous emotions. 

The next time they come to take him out he heaves against the leash attached to the back of the kennel, snapping, growling; he’s drowning in madness. He wants to fucking maul both Agents when they come for him; furious with them for leaving him here to rot. 

That’s when they no longer take him out of the room. Instead they bring in the litter pan he used in medical and place it inside his kennel. Robinson now only comes in twice a day to feed and clean the mess he makes. Sometimes during quiet moments alone, he supposes he deserves the punishment for such appalling behaviour. He’s so confused sometimes; he wants company, wants a kind word and comforting touch, wants Coulson or maybe Theo. But as soon as the door opens he just wants to tear into someone, hurt them for all the shit they’ve done to him, and Robinson is a good someone to start with. 

He’s not sure how many days he’s been locked in the kennel, he hasn’t been keeping track, and there are no windows, when he hears voices outside the door to his room. Not unusual really, he’s at the end of the hall and the faint echoes of conversation as people head to the gyms is normal. But as it gets closer he can tell its Robinson talking to someone and it’s definitely a one sided conversation because he doesn’t hear the other voice. He stands up, lips curled, a loud growl echoing through the room, hackles raised, ready for the Agent to come in. 

“Sir, I swear to you it’s all we were able to do, he’s completely unsafe!” The door swings open and in walks Coulson, Robinson close on his heels.

Clint stops growling, shocked, stunned really, as Coulson comes closer, dressed in a slightly rumpled suit, smelling faintly of sweat and dirt, lips pressed together tightly, he doesn’t look impressed when he see’s Clint. Clint’s chest flutters, overwhelmingly contrite and filled heart wrenching hope, it makes him sick to his stomach. He never meant to upset Coulson, he didn’t think he was ever going to see him again.

His tail slides between his legs, and he drops to the floor to roll onto his back submissively and whines continuously. He wants so badly to go home with Coulson, to have the Agent take him back, to save him from this room and Robinson. Fuck he wants it so bad, needs something, anything the resembles kindness.

Coulson reaches out for the Kennel latch and swings the door open.

“Sir.....” Robinson’s voice is panicked.

Coulson ignores him and walks in and bends down to work the straps of the muzzle free. He pulls the hardware off and unclips the leash from the collar. “I’m sorry Koda, this isn’t what I had intended when I left. Next time I’ll be sure to provide Shield with appropriate handling instructions for your care, in the event that your secondary caregiver is called away.”

Clint rolls back over and rests his chin on a scuffed black shoe and stares up at Coulson, still not sure what’s going to happen, does that mean all is forgiven, or is it, ‘I’m sorry for what happened, I’ll find someone else to take care of you.’ 

Coulson’s expression relaxes, he forces a small smile. “I have some paper work to finish and then I’m going home, it’s been a long day, would you like to come with me?”

The sheer relief that floods him is sickening it’s so strong. He doesn’t know how he can possibly repay or show the gratitude he feels. He jumps up and timidly but excitedly slinks around Coulson’s legs, tail wagging, hopeful and unwaveringly indebted. Clint is absolutely sure this is who he wants, who owns his loyalty and unquestioning obedience, he’s never been so sure, felt so right about anything in his life before. It’s the only thing he has to give, the thing Drummel had said he wanted from him. If he’s meant to devote his life to one man, then it’s going to be Coulson, who has saved him so many times in such a short period.

Coulson smiles. “I’m glad you approve. Let’s go.” He looks over at Robinson, whose eyes are wide in disbelief. “Have this room put back the way it was, and get rid of the Kennel we won’t be needing it again.” Clint stops prancing around and obediently takes his spot beside and slightly behind Coulson to follow him out of the room. 

Robinson watches as they leave, surmising that the big black Wolf is apparently a ‘one Master’ type of animal, it makes sense. It also makes him feel better about his failure to manage the animal for the two weeks Coulson’s been gone.


	3. Chapter 3

They spend the next few hours in Coulson’s office; the click of the computers keys a comforting sound to Clint’s ears. He catches the older man glancing at him thoughtfully more than a few times, but he never says anything. Clint stretches out a little more on the sofa, its cushy familiarity soothing and he slowly starts to relax. The tension doesn’t by any means melt completely away, but enough that he’s somewhere in that state of awake but drifting on the edge of slumber.

By midnight the soft bang of a closing drawer wakes him up completely, he moves to lay upright as he watches Coulson tiredly putting things away, to finally leave. He hops off the sofa and follows Coulson as they quietly leave the building and climb into the car on the way to the apartment, still not a word is spoken to him. 

When the door opens to the apartment, it’s the smell that hits him first, hint of lavender air freshener, stale air and the musk that is uniquely Coulson that permeates the place, it smells like home. He walks in and sits in the living room and watches Coulson take off his tie and sluggishly putter around in the kitchen. It’s not just the smell and the apartment or the memories associated with it, nor the comforting knowledge he isn’t going to be alone tonight that soothes him, it’s Coulson. 

He’s pretty sick of dog food and collars; he misses the luxuries of showers and flushing toilets and really wants the chance to maybe have a conversation with Coulson again. He knows things might change again when he shifts, but he’s willing to do whatever Coulson asks of him, owes him that and more. He shifts and stands in the dim living room, naked. He looks down at himself and frowns, fuck he needs a shower.

When Coulson turns around from the open fridge door, about to ask if Clint is hungry, instead of a big black wolf, he’s looking at a very naked young man who’s frowning down at himself. He smiles and keeps his stance relaxed and as unthreatening as possible. “I have some workout clothes that should fit you.” He waits as Clint jerks his head up to look at him and nods. He shuts the fridge door and walks into his room, coming back out a few minutes later with navy blue sweat pants, socks, a grey hoodie and a t-shirt.

Clint tips his head down in a show of respect. “Thank you, Sir. Uh, would it be alright if I showered quick...it’s been a while.” Clint looks back up at Coulson, feeling a little awkward.

Coulson nods his head, “Of course, down the hall, there are clean towels on the rack.” He makes sure to keep his eyes, chest level and up, not entirely sure how to treat the situation, but he’s happy Clint’s finally shifted. He’s grown fond of the wolf and the quiet companionable company. But is definitely pleased Clint will finally be able to verbally respond back.

Clint takes the clothes and heads to the bathroom, uses the toilet which is almost novel now, and climbs into the shower. He grunts when the cold water hits him at first before slowly warming; being covered in fur he’s forgotten about how delicate bare skin is to temperature changes. He picks up the soap which smells of bergamot; it’s mildly citrus and fresh, almost like earl grey tea. It lathers quickly as he scrubs his skin clean. And holy fuck, showering is amazing, he moves his face under the spray and runs his hands through his hair and then looks for shampoo. He lathers his hair clean and rinses, it’s mildly scented with something minty, he totally smells a bit like Coulson, it’s kind of weird. Rinsed and clean, he gets out and dries off and looks into the foggy mirror which doesn’t show him much. He huffs, sort of glad, he hasn’t worked out in ages he must look like scrawny gutter trash, and holy shit he can smell his own bad breath! Frowning, he curls his tongue over fuzzy teeth and looks around and spots mouth wash, without a tooth brush it’s the best he’s going to get. He rinses, dresses and leaves the bathroom.

Coulson smiles when Clint comes back out to stand on the other side of the island counter in the kitchen. “I know it’s late, but are you hungry.” 

“Uh, sure. Thank you, Sir.” He feels awkward standing here not knowing what he should be doing.

Coulson indicates to one of the stools beside Clint. “Good, sit.“ He grabs a pan and places it on the stove. “You’re in luck, I make decent grilled cheese sandwiches.”

Relieved, he sits where indicated. Now that he’s able to talk, there’s so many things he wants to say, but isn’t sure where to start or if he’s allowed. “Your place looks different up higher.”

Coulson smiles. “I guess it would be. I don’t suppose I still look tall?”

Clint ducks his head with a small grin. “Of course....I ah, I wanted to say thank you...for everything.” 

Coulson nods, it sounds like a rather significant statement, and he’s not sure how to respond to that appropriately yet, so for the time being he says “Your welcome.” When the sandwiches are done he sets the plates down with two sandwiches each and moves to sit beside the younger man. He looks at Clint, who’s sitting politely, straight and proper, hands in his lap, head slightly bent, eyes discreetly darting over to him, making no move to touch the food. “Eat Clint.” 

“Thank you, Sir.” Clint picks up half his sandwich, and eats slowly and quietly, keeping his elbows off the table. Cheese and bread have never tasted so good; it melts in his mouth, so much better than crumbly dog kibble.

Coulson waits until they’re both done, before speaking; it gives him time to collect his thoughts. “I’m sorry for what happened to you while I was gone. As you know, your nature is being kept secret from nearly all of Shield. Part of the reason is to make it easier for you to blend in with everyone while you’re human, but the downside, is everyone will treat you like just a normal dog when you’re in your other form.” He moves his chair back and to the side, so that he can sit and face Clint while he talks. 

Clint takes that as a cue to do the same, and sits facing him as well, perfectly postured in his seat. 

Coulson waits until they’re settled than continues. “Sitwell was called out to oversee a project, I hadn’t accounted for him also being gone. Since you don’t like Agent Hill, it was thought best to give your care over to Robinson, who might not be a senior Agent, but is an experienced dog Handler. Obviously things didn’t go very well.” Coulson’s lips press together, it hardens his expression. He also has his suspicion Fury let things go poorly for a reason, and hates to admit it worked, because he’s here talking with a man instead of a wolf. 

Clint doesn’t like the look on Coulson’s face, wants to appease the other man quickly. “It wasn’t that bad, really. I lost my temper, I didn’t mean to hurt Robinson, I swear that’s never happened before... well not to any of my keepers...I behaved poorly while you were gone and I’m sorry, Sir.” He hopes it sounds contrite enough. Robinson was an asshole and he doesn’t regret a thing he did to him, well mostly.

Coulson considers Clint’s words, they almost sound contrived, but he doesn’t have much to base that on, he doesn’t know Clint. “How about next time, to avoid this mess in the future, you stay human.”

“Alright” Clint quickly agrees, it’s surprising how easy he’s been forgiven for everything. 

Coulson yawns, he’s running on just hours of sleep in the last few days. “We have a lot to discuss in the morning. Spare bedroom is all yours tonight.” He runs a hand tiredly down his face, things can wait till then.

Clint takes that as his dismissal and grabs the empty plates and takes them to the sink before heading down the hall quietly. He’s never actually spent any time in the spare bedroom, always preferring to sleep by Coulson’s door. The freedom of not being locked up and able to stay close by had been nice. 

He leaves the bedroom door open and the light off as he walks to the bed. He pulls the covers back, the sheets smell clean but in that way linens do when they been out a long while and crawls into bed still wearing his clothes. It’s soft and warm, he’d forgotten how nice it was to sleep on a mattress, nestled in blankets, it’s not long before he’s asleep.

The next morning Clint wakes to the smell of coffee and climbs out of bed and waits by the open door nervously. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do, he’s always been collected by somebody when he’s been left in a room, but that’s not to say that’s how things are now. Tension roils in his stomach, but he resolutely stays by the door and waits. 

Coulson pulls down two mugs and fills them with coffee, expecting Clint to come out any minute. He goes to the fridge and pulls out the cream, grimaces when he notices it’s expired and sighs before dumping it down the drain. He looks over again, still waiting for Clint and frowns. He walks out of the kitchen and down the hall and stops as he spots Clint standing just inside the open door to the spare room. “Coffee is ready if you like it black, if not we’re going to have to stop on the way to Shield.”

Clint tilts his head a bit. “I’ve never had coffee, I’m sure black is good.”

“You may want to try it first, it’s an acquired taste.” Coulson wonders if he’s missing something, because Clint hasn’t moved from the door. “You can come out of the room Clint; we need to leave in twenty minutes.”

Clint ducks his head slightly and walks out of the room, the bed is neatly made. Coulson turns and heads back to the kitchen and points to the mug of coffee and watches as Clint dutifully goes over and takes a sip, a subtle grimace wrinkles his face. 

Coulson almost smiles. “Don’t like it?” 

Clint shakes his head. “No it’s fine, thank you, Sir.”

Coulson holds back more of a grin. “You don’t have to be polite, I can’t drink the stuff without cream and sugar.”

Clint looks up at Coulson, he’s never had a choice of food, he’s eaten and drank anything he’s been given. “That might be better....it’s really bitter.”

Coulson nods. “We’ll stop at Starbucks.” He goes back into his room and grabs a tie and walks back out also holding a pair of running shoes. “I’m not sure if these will fit you, but try them on.”

Clint takes the white and blue sneakers and shoves his feet in, relieved when they fit. He ties them quickly and stands up.

Coulson smiles. “You ready to go?”

Clint nods, “Yes Sir.”

They hop into the car and drive to Starbucks, where Clint sips his first vanilla latte, it’s amazing. The rest of the ride is quiet, both of them enjoying their drinks. He follows Coulson into and around Shield like he normally does, except now he’s taller, it’s kind of amusing how the height difference changes his perspective of things. When they get to Coulson’s office, he goes straight to the sofa like normal and sits down. 

Coulson settles into his chair at his desk and pulls out a folder from the drawer before looking over at the blond on the sofa. “Clint, is there anything you want to know, before we start?” 

Clint looks at Coulson uncertainly. “....No Sir” Unfortunately his uncertainty bleeds through into his voice. There are lots of things he wants to know, but it feels like it’s too soon to be asking questions, he doesn’t want to muck things up yet.

Coulson stares at him a moment, “How about you answer some of my questions first, and we’ll come back around to yours?” 

Clint nods. 

Coulson shuffles through some papers in a brown folder. “How did Drummel find you?”

“Trick Shot sold me to him.” 

Coulson’s eyes flick back to the papers within the folder, “Trick Shot worked for the Circus you and your brother joined?” There’s a photo beside Chisholm’s name, showing a beast of a man, tall and thick with a miserable scowling expression.

Clint nods again.

“How did he know what you are, and where was your brother?” Barney was the older sibling; surely he should have been around to take care of his little brother.

“I was lippy when I was younger and had a black and white view of right and wrong. I pissed Jacques Duquesne off when I refused to...listen to him and he... well I wasn’t wining any races for awhile. Buck took me back to the circus with him though, and I guess when I healed quicker than normal,” He shrugs his shoulders. ”I’m pretty sure he didn’t know what I was; probably just saw it as a way to profit. Buck was always looking for a way to make quick money. I don’t know how he knew or contacted Drummel, but I was handed off to Theo.”

He looks up at Coulson before adding, “I think Barney got shot while he was a wolf and died, but I’m not sure. I overheard some town’s people talking about how old man Roberts shot a big grey wolf in the area, but they never said anything else about it. I just assumed it was him because Barney never came back. But he was a dick, so who knows.” It was quite possible that Barney up and left him without a word. Barney had made it very clear what he thought of him after the Swordsman had beaten him so bad it left him in the hospital.

Coulson frowns “What do you mean by, you weren’t winning any races, and that you healed quickly?”

Clint shrugs his shoulders. “I was a punk kid, I broke my legs.”

“You did, or Duquesne broke your legs?” Coulson asks.

Clint shrugs again. “Sort of the same thing, isn’t it.” He cringes, belatedly feeling bad for being lippy. 

Coulson makes a few notes in the folder. “Do you know who shot and killed everyone in Drummel’s house?”

“No, but there were two of them.” He looks at Coulson and takes a deep breath, deciding to be a little more helpful, he adds, “A couple of guys tried to shoot him a month before in an office in L.A.” He remembers all the blood spattered everywhere in that reception room. “I don’t know why, I didn’t know what Drummel was doing, I wasn’t allowed in on meetings, and he never talked about stuff around me. And I wasn’t really interested enough to find out. I do know he owned a pharmaceutical and biotech company though, least I think that’s what it was.” 

Coulson regards Clint thoughtfully. “Thank you.“ 

Clint decides ‘what the hell’, and asks, “Do you know who did it?”

Coulson carefully replies, “We have a pretty good idea, Drummel attempted to branch out into areas past his depth of expertise and when he tried to manipulate the wrong people, it back fired on him.“

“Oh.” Clint’s spitefully pleased, the asshole had it coming. He hopes Drummel didn’t die quick.

Coulson lays his pen down on the desk. “One day I might be able to explain it better to you, but you don’t have the security clearance for it right now.” 

“Sure.” Clint doesn’t really care, Drummel’s dead, what more does he need to know? “Did everyone die in the house?” That seems like an important question.

“Nobody who was in the house survived.” Coulson confirms.

Well that was good, cause everyone had been there and sleeping...Would Coulson tell him if somebody was missing?

“You were with Drummel for five years, can you tell me what happened and what your duties were?” Coulson watches the blond closely.

Clint consciously relaxes his posture. “I was nothing more than a pet, the guarding was all for show, but it was still nice. Drummel just liked having a Fenrir around, something to do with his father.”

“Did he treat you well?” Coulson presses.

Clint thinks carefully before answering. “He was a moody man who was used to getting whatever he wanted, but I was sheltered, clothed and well fed. I didn’t have it that bad. But I’m happy he’s gone and I’m not there anymore.”

Coulson relaxes, relieved with the answer and decides not to push for more right now. “OK.” Clint looks nervous, but so far that seems to be pretty normal. “Have you given any thought to what you want to do now?”

Clint quirks an eyebrow, amused, since when did he have a choice? “No. Was I supposed to?”

Coulson sits back in his chair. “You have unique abilities Clint; you could become a valuable asset to Shield. If you were interested, we would train and educate you, find what you’re uniquely suited for. You’d be an employee, we’d set up everything you’d need. But for the first year you’d be required to stay in, on-premises housing until you complete your probationary period. You can get your own apartment after that. As an employee, you will have the option of saying no to things you object to, within reason of course.”

Clint’s confused, he feels like he’s missed something important along the way. It sounds like he’s being offered a job, actual employment, with an option to refuse. Which is ridiculous because refusing isn’t an option; he has nothing and nowhere else to go. Did it mean Coulson was keeping him personally? Or was he being given to someone else within Shield?

Fuck it, he thinks, not like he’d ever say no to staying here. “I would like to stay.” He says.

“Do you have any questions, requests or stipulations? Your contract will be up for review in two years, but you’ll be locked into it until then. I will of course go over everything with you.”

Clint shakes his head, looking confident in his answer. “No.” Contract? He’s so confused.

Coulson stares at him for a minute, wondering why this is going so smoothly, if Clint even realizes what he’s agreeing to. “You understand what I’m asking you, right?”

Clint schools his face and posture into what he hopes looks like assurance. “Of course, Sir.”

Coulson’s eyes narrow a fraction, trying to figure out if something is amiss. “I assume you know what Shield does, I don’t remember if I explained it to you.”

Clint doesn’t really have a fucking clue; maybe he should have been paying attention during his time here. “Not entirely, Sir.” He also doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be calling Coulson. Theo preferred his first name and Drummel always liked Sir, or Mr. Drummel. Coulson hasn’t reprimanded him about the Sir yet, he’ll stick with that for now.

Coulson nods. “S.H.I.E.L.D. stands for; Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division and we are counterterrorism and intelligence agency run by Nick Fury. Shield was founded to combat technologically advanced threats on world security, therefore we’re a secret international military agency with thousands of agents worldwide.” He pauses a moment before continuing. “Still interested?”

“Yes Sir.” Shield sounds cooler than what he’s seen so far, because everything up until now has been pretty boring. 

Coulson considers that a reasonable answer. “Ok. First thing we’ll do today is get your personal details organized, along with barracks and basic necessities down at HR, where we’ll also get you the Shield handbook, it’ll explain things in more detail.” He looks over at his computer screen, fingers clacking on the keys and then pauses to check the HR staff schedules. “Later this afternoon I’ll bring you down to Bookerson, you’ll need to take some evaluation tests, see where you are academically. Basic training lasts a year, after that you’ll be evaluated and courses will be picked based on what you are predispositioned towards. Your continued training will last two years, and over this time you’ll be completing courses, ops and field training. You’ll also find your niche and choose a specialty.” He eyes Clint, who’s sitting on the sofa, back straight, hands on his knees and watching him carefully.

“Sure.” Clint relaxes a fraction, his future here so far, sounds pretty secure, three years is a good start. Even if he doesn’t know exactly what he’ll be doing or belong to. 

Coulson looks at Clint with something like humour. “I presume you have no questions?”

“No, Sir.” He does, he wants to know if he’ll be staying with Coulson.

Coulson closes the folder and rolls his chair back, “I’ll take you down to HR. “

 

It’s nearly seven in the evening when Clint is taken to his newly assigned room by Coulson. It’s a single room, small but clean; there’s a desk, chair, bed, dresser and closet. Clint dutifully puts away the clothes that have been issued to him; an outdoor jacket, shoes, boots, workout wear, shield basic uniforms, socks and underwear. He’s also given basic bathroom supplies. 

Coulson hands him a weekly schedule, “You’ve been assigned to Agent Todd for your first year, he’ll be overseeing your basic training.” 

Clint turns to look at Coulson, hand still on the top drawer of his dresser. His brows furrow, he forces them to relax, to keep his face passive, its habit, Drummel didn’t appreciate him being overly expressive. His muscles tense with the spoken affirmation that Coulson isn’t keeping him, he’s being given to another....again. And things were going so well, it’s crushing.

“Clint” Coulson’s standing in the doorway, he doesn’t feel its right to invite himself in.

Clint struggles to calmly focus on Coulson. 

Once Clint is looking at him, he continues. “Bookerson said you passed nearly all of your scholastic tests, but you have no knowledge of computers, where did you get your education?” 

He shrugs like it’s not really worth mentioning. “Drummel had tutors come in to teach me, said he didn’t want uneducated trailer trash embarrassing him.” He straightens his shoulders and looks right at Coulson as he says, “I also had an etiquette teacher and a couple of dog trainers” 

Coulson’s face doesn’t even twitch in response. “I’ll make a note of that...you know where my office is, if you need anything, or have questions, don’t hesitate to come and see me. I’m still the senior Agent overseeing your training.” He can’t shake the feeling that something is off, he’s missing something.

Hope flares in Clint’s chest, maybe this means that he’s still Coulson’s and he’s just going to be trained by another. Sort of like what Theo did with the dog trainers, or maybe more like Theo and Drummel. Belatedly realizing Coulson is waiting for some form of acknowledgement he nods. 

“Good. Have a good night Clint.” Coulson shuts the door behind him as he leaves. 

Clint looks around his new room, and then back at the door feeling the beginnings of panic crawl up his spine, nobody told him what his night rules were. What time was he supposed to be in his room every night? Was there a bathroom schedule he was supposed to adhere to? Was there a specified time for lights out? ‘Fuck’ he thinks to himself. Heavy with resignation, he finishes putting away his new stuff. Maybe the Shield manual will have some answers. He’s never had to ask what to do before, Theo and Drummel always made sure he knew exactly what was expected. Maybe he was supposed to figure it out...or maybe this was one of those things that people grew up knowing, normal day to day stuff. He sighs, the room smells faintly of someone else, sweat, dust and the lingering acrid smell of harsh cleaners. It’s quite, except for the sounds he can hear emanating from the adjoining rooms on either side.

 

The first month is hard; he ends up having to ask Coulson if there are room rules, if he would be collected for meals and at what times, how he was supposed to get to his classes, and if he needed to wait for an escort, because he isn’t able to find the answers in the manual. But he doesn’t want to ask about things that he thinks should be obvious. He remembers Coulson mentioning how he’s supposed to ‘blend in’ but he’s at a loss at how exactly to do that. He’s gotten so used to being escorted around, without the need to actually mingle.

Nobody else seems to be struggling with what he knows are mundane actions and routines, so he watches. He struggles to mimic the people around him, keeps to himself and stays as quiet and still as possible to avoid attention while trying to figure things out. Participating in ‘normal’ activities is uncomfortable and awkward. Attempting to do things he hasn’t been allowed to do in years feels foreign, embarrassing even, especially when it feels like people are looking at him funny, silently mocking his ineptness. Simple things like knowing where to sit in his classes, eating in the cafeteria on his own and trying to navigate the communal bathrooms is especially nerve racking. 

He horribly blunders the two attempts of trying to be friendly and conversing with his classmates. He has no stories or acceptable personal information to share when they start talking and getting to know each other, and he comes off as either weird or being a dick for his stubborn silence.

Unfortunately, avoiding people afterwards actually attracts attention and not the good kind. Some of the recruits mutter insults and stare at him disapprovingly. He thinks some of it might be due to him continually moving away from the female recruits. He tries to ignore them all; however his lack of response seems to encourage their belligerent behaviour. So by the end of the month he’s starting to feign cold indifference convincingly because he’s realizing people are generally assholes and he doesn’t want anything to do with them. It’s not entirely effective, but at least it keeps people from trying to come over and talk, because fuck it, he has nothing to say. It has also seemed to stall the more aggressive ones from increasing their harassment. 

He’s adept at following orders from his years in Drummel’s care; it helps him to focus in his classes. Physical training, offence and defensive tactics are easy and familiar from his time with the Swordsmen, even though he’s ridiculously out of shape. But as time goes on and he quickly tones up, he discovers he’s quicker and stronger than his classmates; it’s both exciting and depressing. He wonders if knowing that might have helped him when he was younger. Not once, had it occurred to him before now, that his pedigree might mean he was inherently stronger and faster than humans. Granted he had a better sense of smell, but he had nothing to base his sense of taste, sight or hearing on; he’d just assumed other people were the same as him. 

Following Coulson’s order to blend in, he actively endeavours to limit himself; tempering his strength and speed, only doing so well as the best student in his class. He’s in a building filled with spies, it’s a sobering thought.

As another month passes, he works on being abrasive; acquiring the vocabulary skills and confidence to be insolent, although to be honest he doesn’t have anything nice to say anyway. It’s been abundantly clear throughout his life, that most people are narcissistic assholes and is further cemented here. In response to his prickly demeanor, he gets a few more muttered slurs of being a dick. He’s still courteous to his instructors, and so far he hasn’t been reprimanded for his behaviour.

He still avoids women when possible, he understands that he isn’t going to be beaten for interacting with them, but he also has so little experience with the opposite sex, that he’s immediately nervous. And the embarrassing things Drummel said; about him being worthless and impotent are always in the back of his mind. He wants to hide it, hide what he feels must be obvious to any female who looks at him. 

Thankfully the one steady thing in his life is still Coulson. He stops by his office once a week, usually on Wednesdays. He always knocks politely on the door and waits, quietly slinking in when authorized to enter, shoulders drooped and head slightly bowed as he goes to the sofa.  
They don’t talk much sometimes, but he’s happy when they do. He’s aware it’s polite small talk most of the time, but he’s not exactly great at conversation so it’s perfect. Coulson always seems amicable to his presence, and that’s the most important thing. He’s content to sit and read on the sofa, letting the smell and sound of clacking keys ease some of his tension away.

He’s surrounded be people every day but he’s still lonely, at the end of the fourth month he starts showing up on Tuesday and Friday evenings as well. Coulson doesn’t comment or question his increased visits. He keeps it to three nights a week, worried he’s going to cross a line and be kicked out. 

Since he’s figured out how to use the computers, he’s been researching wolves when he’s able to find free time and when nobody else is the computer lab, which isn’t often. Some of the things about packs, and the dynamics within make sense to him; however he’s not sure if it’s all the same for Fenrir’s. Barney never taught him anything and his parents died when he was little, he knows very little about his own kind.

By the fifth month, he’s getting used to the routine of Shield and its inhabitants. In an attempt to endear Coulson to him, he starts randomly showing up at his office in the afternoon’s to bring him lunch and coffee. He wants Coulson to like him, to want him, he sort of feels like a puppy begging for attention. He doesn’t stay because his tight schedule doesn’t allow for it. The time he spends waiting in the mess to pick up food and walk it back to Coulson’s office, which isn’t anywhere near the cafeteria, eats up most of his lunch hour. 

His classes also progress into more interesting and in-depth training. Like the familiarization with the different weapons, gear and tech the Agents use. He’s struggled through a lot of challenging things during these past few months, but weapon handling isn’t one of them. He didn’t think his circus days could really fall into the category of past experience, but he picks it up easily. Guns are straight forward and knives are familiar from his time with the Swordsman. His aim is still eerily good and that makes him smile, pleased with himself.

His computer skills, unfortunately; are still far below everyone else’s. It’s sadly despairing; leaving him to wonder what will happen if he fails at this.

He’s struggling with team building exercises and the social aspect too. He just isn’t good at friendly small talk with people he dislikes; he knows what to say to be polite when necessary. But he’s never participated in the type of conversations that everyone around him engage in everyday without thought or trepidation. From growing up to his parents screaming at each other, to trailing around after Barney and letting his older brother sort things out at the Orphanage then onto the Circus. He wasn’t required to talk with either the Swordsmen or Trickshot, he was expected to watch and learn, to mimic and excel at their trades. And Drummel certainly didn’t want his pet talking back.

So he starts paying more attention to the people around him, especially in the cafeteria, when everyone gathered into groups to talk and tease each other. He watches the way they use their hands to articulate what they’re saying, the expressions on their faces, the way their voices inflect to insinuate meaning. He hopes this will help him with Coulson too.

He gets better in his classes.

On completion of his first year, he’s called into Coulson’s office. He walks in and sits down on the sofa, fully expecting bad news; he’s done poorly in some of his classes.

Coulson looks at him over an open folder on his desk. “Agent Todd dropped off your evaluation report for your first year. He mentions you need to continue improving your technological skills; you’re going to need a working knowledge of the tech you’ll be using here and out in the field. That being said I don’t expect you to become a tech expert, we have people for that.” 

Clint just continues to nervously stare at folder on the desk.

Coulson’s eyes flick down to the papers, then back up to Clint. “Agent Todd notes that you don’t work well in a group.” He pauses a moment. “Given your canine nature Clint, this surprises me. Care to explain?”

Clint clenches his teeth together, searching for something positive to say. “I completed all my objectives. I work within the teams I’m selected for during training exercises.” 

“Yes you have, but there’s a difference between working with people and being a strong team member which is necessary here. A great team functions when there’s a sense of cohesion, this is usually facilitated by members participating in camaraderie.” Coulson has enjoyed Clint’s company, but is starting to worry if it’s been hindering his ability in making friends.

“So, team bonding.” Clint says with a frown. 

Coulson’s lips thin but he continues on. “It’s been noted that you don’t participate in any group activities on base during free time, or make use of the recreational areas.”

Clint looks up. “I thought those were optional.” 

Coulson pauses. “They are, but it’s healthy to form friendships, socialize and find activities that you enjoy.”

“I socialize with you....and I spend every day with those people already.” Clint refrains from calling them dicks.

Coulson considers that, then asks, “What do you do in the evenings when you’re not here with me?” 

“I read in my room or go to the gym.” He can’t afford to lose any muscle mass, knows he looks like shit when he drops weight.

“For the last year you’ve spent most of your free time in your room reading?” Coulson questions incredulously. Perhaps he should have pushed, asked more questions, but Clint’s always been recalcitrant in talking about anything personal. 

Clint nods. “And the gym.” His stomach clenches in worry. “Was I not supposed to?” He hopes Coulson isn’t going to order him to hang out with his classmates.

“No, you’re allowed to spend your free time as you want to, I just thought you’d be bored of it by now.” Maybe he shouldn’t have given Clint so much space this year. He had thought it best not to crowd him, to let him make his own decisions, to give him what Drummel probably hadn’t.

Clint shrugs his shoulders in indifference. “I’ve never had time to myself like this before...And I’m used to staying put until I’m called for.” 

Coulson continues to look at Clint, thoughtfully. Maybe he, as well as Fury had been willfully ignorant to Barton’s past. They really didn’t have a clear understanding as to what happened to Clint, over the five years he was held by Drummel. Barton hadn’t seemed too affected by his captivity, odd quirks and a little anti-social, but no waving red flags. As it is, he’s not sure what to say to that, so he changes the subject. “Tomorrow you’ll be meeting Agent Paxton in room 1045 at eight am, he’ll be your new training supervisor. “

“I passed then?” Clint’s smiles, stomach unknotting a bit.

“Of course you did.” Coulson stops to look at Clint. “You’re not going to excel at everything, that’s why Agents have specialties or work in the departments that match their skill sets. You’re doing well.” He pauses. “I should probably be mentioned that I’ll be referring to you as Barton, it’s appropriately formal now.” 

Clint leans back into the softness of the sofa, some of the tension melting away, after a year of struggling to get things right, he’s finally doing it. 

“You’re dismissed for the rest of the day. You’re welcome to stay of course.” Coulson indicates the sofa.

Clint momentarily ducks his head in a natural show of respect and submission; it’s an unthinking gesture around Coulson. “Thanks.” 

 

The following Friday evening, when Clint walks into Coulson’s office, the senior Agent lays his pencil down on the desk, watching as Clint sits down on the sofa, book in hand. 

Clint stills when he feels Coulson’s continued stare on him and looks up. His brows furrow, suddenly worried, Coulson looks expectant, should he have brought more coffee, a snack maybe? Head tilted to the side he asks, “...Sir?”

“I stopped by acquisitions and requested the Armory order something for you.“ Coulson pushes his chair back and reaches for a long fabric case lying on the floor, and places it on top of his desk. “This is for you.”

Clint’s eyes dart to the case on the desk then to Coulson, wondering what the hell is going on. This isn’t typical behaviour, or the appropriate method of issuing Shield gear. Uncertain but curious, this is Coulson after all. He stands and walks over to the desk, reaches out to place a hand on the black fabric and hesitates, looking back up for permission, Coulson nods encouragingly.

Clint picks it up and goes back to the sofa again. He looks down at the rectangular but oddly shaped package in his lap. He runs his fingers along the sides searchingly, until they brush against the zipper. He grasps it firmly and slowly pulls it all the way down and around, then peels the top flap open. Eyes widening in surprise; in the case is a black, shiny new compound bow. It’s beautiful, and completely unexpected. 

Coulson’s voice catches his attention. “The file I have says you were very talented with a bow while you were with the circus. I thought maybe this would give you something to do with your free time. You can keep it with you, since it’s yours, arrows will be at the range. I’m not sure if it’s something you actually enjoyed when you were younger...” He hopes it is, because besides reading, Clint hasn’t given any indication to anything else he enjoys doing.

Clint looks up at Coulson, feeling distinctly and uncomfortably vulnerable at the moment. “Yes. I ..I liked it a lot.” He clenches his jaw, suddenly tense with no idea how to respond but pretty sure that was lame. “ Uh..I don’t know what..?” He feels like an idiot. Was this a Shield thing or did Coulson just give him a gift? Was he supposed to reciprocate? How was he supposed to respond? Fuck.

Coulson of course looks calm and unruffled, like this is an everyday thing, it’s enviable. Clint forcibly softens his posture. “Thank you, Sir.”

Coulson’s getting better at reading Clint, able to pick up on the small tells he’s not able to hide. “It’s a gift Clint and gifts aren’t always meant to be reciprocated. Start spending some time out of your room.“ 

“I think I can manage that.” He says, still tense but kind of proud of himself for not freaking out, oh yeah, nailed it

“Good.” Coulson says before going back to his paperwork, giving the younger man some space; able to see that Clint isn’t as collected and composed as he’s pretending to be.

Clint zips the bow back up in the case; he’ll take a closer look at it in the privacy of his own room later.

Later that night he again unzips the carrying bag and takes the bow out, it’s amazing; and different than the old, shitty recurve he used in the circus. That bow had felt big and heavy in his small hands; had taken a considerable amount of strength to use. But he had excelled at it as a child. And for a couple of years, his life hadn’t been too bad, not all the time. Not until he had crossed Duquesne, and was then later picked up by Buck. He wonders how his life might have turned out if Trick Shot had just left him in the hospital, if Buck hadn’t taken him back and then later sold him to Drummel. 

With a shake of his head, he hefts the bow up, this one is light and well balanced. He curls three fingers around the bow string and pulls back, the draw is smooth, it makes him smile, he doesn’t release, but gently brings the bowstring back to its resting position. He smiles, ridiculously happy; he can’t wait to take it to the range. All his time with Drummel, Clint never really thought about it. At some point he had realized everything he wanted didn’t matter, his life wasn’t his 

 

 

He divides his free time into practicing at the range with his bow, working out in the gym and hanging out in Coulson’s office. At the range he learns that if he leaves his ear plugs in at all times, he can ignore the few people who come over to talk. The bow, as it turns out, is an unusual weapon and attracts unwanted attention. People seem to dislike him more after this. It just enforces his cynical view of his teammates and his growing opinion that most people are inherently a bag of dicks. 

 

His second year is spent completing practical, hands on training such as driving-qualifying on different vehicles, jump school, sniper school, basic flight training and urban combat techniques among others. Keeping contact with his classmates to a minimum isn’t too hard, as a lot of the courses aren’t team oriented. But for the courses where acting as a team is necessary, he’s able to communicate and work effectively in the group to finish the objectives, which he’s extremely proud of himself for.

 

At nearly two years, he’s slowly settled into himself, adopting character traits he likes; molding them into something of his own. He’s learned that he can stand up for himself, that he can be belligerent and aggressive and people back off, it’s a heady experience, addictive in its gratification. This steadily increases his shaky confidence in himself; he doesn’t give a shit if people like him. This also means he hasn’t made any friends, but he’s never had any so he doesn’t see the problem, even though Coulson questions him from time to time about it.

As the months pass, he slowly finds his own sense of humor around Coulson and Sitwell, its snarky and sarcastic. He makes growing attempts to banter playfully with Coulson, who in turn has shown that he has a dry, sarcastic sense of humour as well. 

 

The third year is spent training at Shields bases all over the world with his classmates and instructors. They train as individuals and in teams, and utilize their individual specialities. They practice working with all the gear, tech, weapons, vehicles and air transports that they might use later in their careers. They return every month back to New York for down time and evaluations.

And this is where he starts having problems, being away from Coulson for so long starts unraveling all his hard learned patience and stretches the finely crafted web-work of his untouchable emotional walls. Being isolated with teammates who openly dislike him becomes harder to ignore. He’s more defensive, the sense of feeling cornered causes him to snap at people and he’s had to catch himself from physically lashing out. The three guys on his team, who’ve been actively antagonizing him over the year, react by pushing harder.

The instructors, who he has no real respect for are oblivious to the tension within the group. But with the growing unease and jaw grinding hostility, it’s hard to remember exactly why he should be following instructions from trainers who are inadequate leaders. And within the third month of being away, he starts pushing boundaries, he slows his response time to orders, delaying or ignoring commands that aren’t immediately important. He speaks out of turn and is openly confrontational. He waits, wondering when he’ll be reprimanded for poor behavior; disciplined for acting out. It doesn’t happen until his patience snaps with the asshat who’s been harassing him the most finally goes so far as to push him against one of the trucks. He steps back half a foot before his back thumps against the driver’s side door. He pushes off in a snarl of anger and a swinging fist and knocks Trainee Donner out cold. The crunch of bone doesn’t feel like enough but he stops and smiles as Donner slumps boneless to the ground. 

When the discipline comes, it’s laughable, demerits and physical exercise, really? This of course, goes to further sully his already poor reputation, from unsociable loner, to insubordinate and combative. 

When they get back to New York, Coulson is on the tarmac at the airfield, standing beside a black SUV, waiting for him. Cold fingers of anxiety curl around chest and squeeze; he knows he’s in trouble. He shoulders his bag and promptly walks over, stopping a respectful distance in front of him; bows his head and says “Sir.” in greeting.

“Barton. Get in the car.” Coulson watches as Clint walks around to the back and throws his bag in the trunk then on to climb into the passenger front seat. He gets in the driver’s side and pushes the key into the ignition. “I believe it’s past time we talk.”

The drive is quiet, neither talks on the way back to Shield. Clint follows Coulson, perfectly in place, slightly behind and to the left all the way to his office from the parking garage. He waits by the door while Coulson goes to sit at his desk, then goes to sit stiffly on the sofa.

Coulson looks at Clint appraisingly, who’s wearing the all black field uniform, it’s dusty and the left cuff is caked in mud. The blond hair looks a little matted and brown with dirt, there’s a dark smudge on one cheek and those blue eyes are averted downwards, not meeting his gaze. This does not strike him as the belligerent man he’s been reported as. But to be fair, Clint’s behavior has always been cordial and acquiescent around him, and until three months ago; generally well behaved in his classes. 

“You want to tell me why I’m getting reports from your instructors that you’re disobeying orders and fighting with classmates? You broke a teammates jaw.”

Clint’s fists tighten just thinking of his ‘peers’ who he’s been forced to live with. “They’re not teammates, and the instructors aren’t worthy of being leaders.” 

Coulson’s slightly taken aback by such an emphatic statement. Why rebel now, and not months ago. “Is this recent, or have you felt this way for a while?”

Clint looks up hesitantly, knowing the answer isn’t going to please him. “A few months after I started training here.”

Coulson pauses, how did he miss this, this total disregard for command structure; of community and any sort of dedication to Shield? “Why act out now and not earlier?”

“I don’t like following orders from others but it was easier when I knew you were close by, so it didn’t seem to matter as much.”

Coulson thinks he’s going to have to come back and address the last part of that statement later. “It was explained to you before you signed your contract, that during your training, you would be taught in a group by different instructors. And that when you graduate to the status of ‘Agent’, there was a possibility of having different handlers for particular missions, the same went for teams. Why didn’t you mention this before?” 

Still looking up at Coulson he says, “Because it was alright before, but now I’m alone out there, surrounded by them, crowded and constantly attacked and I can’t leave...”

“What do you mean attacked?” If Clint is being harassed by his classmates, this is the first he’s hearing of it, and it’s not good.

Clint looks away, then back over to stare at Coulson’s tie. “I mean they’re all dicks.”

Coulson waits, but Clint doesn’t elaborate and he gets the impression that he isn’t going to and moves on. “Why did you agree to join Shield?” 

Clint looks at Coulson in mild disbelief. “Because that’s what you wanted.” And he had nowhere else to go.

Coulson sits back in his chair as pieces to the puzzle slowly start to come together. “What am I to you Clint?”

Clint cocks his head to the side, worried. “My owner.....” Fuck, he hopes he’s right, he wants to be right.

Coulson’s lips thin with concern. “You are aware that owning another person is wrong, that Drummel purchasing and owning you was wrong, right? You have rights and free will just like everybody else.” How did he miss this, years ago.

Clint frowns, “Yes.”

“Then why do you feel like you need to be owned by me?” True Coulson’s probably shown favoritism towards the young blond, more than is strictly appropriate, but he’s pretty sure he hasn’t been proprietary. 

Clint’s knows exactly why, a sense of security, stability and because Coulson was the first person to show him kindness, the first person he felt a connection too. Because Coulson keeps saving him and feels like warmth and calm strength, he feels like safety and Clint would give everything to keep and protect him. “Because there weren’t any other options and because I hoped you would keep me.”

“You were never ‘Mine” Clint, I was the senior Agent investigating you, and tasked with negotiating your inclusion to Shield. I decided because we had a rapport, to remain as your senior supervisory Agent.” He’d also been emotionally invested by the time he came back to find Clint stuck in a kennel in the fitness storage room. 

“But you took care of me.” What about the month he’d spent at Coulson’s side as a wolf and lived with him?

Coulson’s thoughts race back to the beginning, which must have been when Clint’s perception of him filling Drummel’s empty position happened. “Yes I did, it was my job. Although I’ll admit my fondness for you, was why I took you home.” And because Clint had been so dolefully sad looking with his patchy fur and healing injuries, so earnest in his desperate obedience.

Clint’s breath stutters; Coulson words hurt and they’re not even cruel. “Then who do I belong to?” 

His immediate response is to say “nobody” but Coulson’s starting to see that simply telling Clint things are different now, that he’s free and doesn’t belong to anybody, might not be helping. Because the dirty and obviously stressed out young man in front of him, is looking more like he did two years ago. “What happened while you were with Drummel?”

Clint’s eyes narrow, not liking the change of topic and vividly aware Coulson has evaded his question. “Nothing, I was treated like a privileged, rich dude’s pet.”

Coulson registers anger in Clint’s tone. “Did you listen to both Drummel and Theo, the Guards?” 

Clint wonders where he’s going with this. “To all of them, Drummel above all else.”

Coulson nods. “Is that any different than here?”

Clint’s annoyed. “Of course it is.” He breaths in and out before continuing. “I get what you’re trying to say, but I don’t feel like I should listen to everyone higher in rank than me, it’s not the same. I don’t want to listen to strangers or play nice with the other dogs.” He’s mad now.

Coulson switches tracks again, but wonders about what Clint just said, thinks it’s quite telling. Wonders if it’s trust and pack mentality. “Were you treated well?” 

Clint takes a moment to answer, he’s a bit flustered with all the jumping around “....It could have been worse.” He still has mixed feelings, it was awful at times, he had been so angry and scared and god awfully lonely, but there been good times too. He had, had his own room, regular meals, got an education and for the first time, wanted.

“So you wanted to stay?” Coulson asks.

“Not entirely.” Yes and no, definitely not at the end.

“Did you ever try to leave?” Coulson should have asked some of these questions years ago.

Clint pauses here, because no he didn’t, the whole James’s incident didn’t really count either, did it? “No. There was nowhere else to go.”

Coulson mulls over the ‘nowhere else to go’. “Did you like being owned by Drummel?”

Clint takes special care in answering calmly. “At least with Drummel I knew where I was supposed to be, what I was supposed to do.” The urge to get up and leave this conversation is so strong that he’s actually gripping the sofa cushions in an effort to ground himself to his spot.

Coulson notes the white knuckles clenched into the sofa. “Does that mean you don’t know what you’re supposed to do here?” 

Clint pauses, because he does and he doesn’t, he’s still confused with his status and what’s going to happen after he’s finished his training. “Shield has been clear enough with expectations.”

Coulson wonders if Clint means to say he’s the one being unclear, but continues. “What about your parents?” 

Clint shrugs and wonders what they have to do with this. “They died, Barney was a shit big brother and took us to the circus, where things were hard and people were mean.” And holy shit, when was this interrogation going to end? Fuck he got it, his life was seriously fucked up, but couldn’t anybody see that he was trying to do things right, now? Hadn’t he mimicked normal good enough? Hadn’t he learned well and completed every test they gave him?

Coulson watches Clint fidget, can clearly see he’s on the verge of leaving or breaking something tangible. But the puzzle that is one Clint Barton wasn’t a scattered blurry heap of pieces any more. He’d need to talk to Fury and figure out how best to move forward from here.

“Go get a shower and eat something before racking out. Meet me here Monday at two o’clock and we’ll discuss how you’re going to finish your training.” Because keeping him in his current group was out of the question.

Clint unclenches sweaty hands from the cushions, fingers slightly stiff from clenching so hard and nods in acknowledgment and all but flees from the office. He goes straight to his room where he strips of his dirty uniform and pulls on clean workout wear for now, not ready to brave the crowds of the cafeteria. He’ll wait until later when most people are asleep to eat, and the bathrooms are vacant to shower. 

He sits on the edge of his bed, Shields bed, and palms his face, taking deeps breaths. Two and a half years, he’s spent years trying to endear himself to Coulson, to show the man that he was useful, that he was worth keeping. He’s not sure what their conversation means for him, was Coulson basically telling him he was on his own, that he was to be the family dog? He didn’t want to be passed around, it was too similar to being unwanted, not good enough to be kept. How did people function like that? He sighs, it didn’t matter what he wanted. It would be ok, because there was nowhere else to go, no one else to take him. He had food, shelter and a big government agency to look after him, so long as he was useful and listened. It would just take time to adjust again. He lies down on the bed and clutches the pillow to his chest and closes his eyes, it would be fine. His stomach growls but he ignores it, too drained to get up.

On Monday Clint arrives at Coulson’s office, knocks and waits to be called in. Coulson’s voice drifts through the door and he walks in and sits down in the chair in front of the desk instead of the sofa, hands resting on the stiff plastic arms.

Coulson notes the change of seating but doesn’t comment on it, and doesn’t bother with pleasantries either. “You need to finish your training, but given that you don’t work well in large groups or your current classmates, I’ve altered your training schedule. I’ve also gone through your evaluation reports and believe your strengths and personality are perfectly suited to Sniper and specialty tactics trade craft. Your training schedule will focus on camouflage, field craft, infiltration, special reconnaissance and observation, surveillance and target acquisition.” 

Clint was prepared for bad news, but holy shit so far things sound amazing.

Coulson pauses before continuing. “This is a field where you will usually only be working with a maximum of four people if not just one handler. But Clint, you do still need to finish the other requisite classes that all Shield agents are required to have. However I’ve placed you in a different third year group.” 

Clint nods, a small smile playing across his lips, even though he’s still leery of being confined within a group of people away from the relative security of New York...and Coulson. “Thank you, Sir.”

Coulson’s done his best to accommodate Clint’s needs for his final year of training. After the previous conversation and taking into account, Clint’s Fenrir nature he’s made a few more changes. “Clint, I want to make it clear that in no way do I own you, I’m not going to take Drummel’s place as Master. But given our conversation last week, I don’t think you’re inherently suited to following more than one authority figure. So when you finish your training, I’m going to have you transferred to me, I’ll be your primary Handler, which means you will not be under anyone else’s command. That is of course, if this is what you want. You can always file a request later for someone else.”

Clint’s head quirks to the side, what? “You’re keeping me?” He cringes, instantly aware he’s used the wrong wording for Coulson, who’s already expressed his distaste for that particular phrasing.

Coulson bites down on his immediate negative response to that and instead says, “In essence yes.”

Clint timidly smiles, worried he’s going to do something that’ll wreck this. “Sorry. Yes, I want to work with you, I don’t want anyone else.” 

Coulson smiles. “Good.” And adds, “I want to make it clear to you, that if you had transferred in from another department and already had experience, you wouldn’t have had to go through all this training. But I can’t cut any more corners; you really do need to learn what Shield is teaching you.”

What’s nine more months? “No, it’s fine, thank you.” Holy shit, he can’t believe his luck, can’t believe he’s gotten what he’s been hoping for, for years. He ridiculously happy, not an entirely common feeling, it’s awesome. At twenty-two years old, he feels like his life is finally on the upswing.

Coulson picks up the green folder on his desk and hands it to Clint. “This is the information on your new course schedule.”

The smile on Clint’s face is actually starting to hurt his cheeks. He takes the folder and takes his leave.

As the months pass, he settles into the routine of being away from New York, the time varies from a week to five weeks, so far being the longest. The group he’s training with is made up of mostly older soldiers with past experience, which is far better than the previous group of his peers. They’re congenial enough to be around, but his learned defensive and misanthropic behaviour doesn’t endear him to anybody. He’s almost disappointed; he sort of wanted to try and be part of the group. It probably doesn’t help that he’s occasionally recalcitrant with the training Agents, which is obviously frowned on. Sometime he can’t help it when they make him angry and defensive. There are times he wants to tell them to go fuck themselves, but he owes it to Coulson to successfully pass his training.

It’s a late Tuesday in March and the final month of his training when he gets back to New York, having been gone four weeks. He goes straight to Coulson’s office, eager to relax in the safety and softness of what he has effectively declared as his sofa. Coulson isn’t there but the lamp is still on, he sighs and flops down, breathing in the familiar scent that permeates the room and drifts off. 

He startles awake to the door opening, there’s a pause as Coulson stares down unimpressed at him, “Barton, get your dirty boots out of my office and get a shower”

Clint smiles, while slowly manoeuvring to sit up. Since Coulson has effectively adopted him, he’s settled into a sense of security around him, no longer so fearful of being abandoned. They banter easily now. “Yes Sir. Would you like a coffee on my way back?” 

Coulson moves to his desk, eyeing him disapprovingly, crisp suit, shiny shoes and holding a brown folder, it’s good to see him again.

“It’s ten at night, I’ll pass on the coffee.” Coulson gives Clint a truly bland look.

“Warm milk then?” Clint asks, pushing playfully.

Coulson’s lips twitch, but he takes a seat behind his desk without looking up. “Shower Barton, you stink.”

“Hot vanilla milk it is then.” Clint says as he strolls to the door, pausing to raise an arm to take an exaggerated sniff of his armpit. “That’s the smell of hard work, you know.” Ugh, he really does smell. 

Coulson just looks at him and says, “Uh huh.” And watches as the tired, young blond leaves the doorway and smiles to himself, it’s good to have him back. 

 

At the end of March, Clint’s status is officially changed to Junior Agent and Coulson becomes his Handler. Its taken years, but he’s finally where he thinks he belongs. Actually employed, doing something he enjoys, and finally useful and exclusively under Coulson’s command. It’s like being able to truly breathe for the first time, he didn’t realize until its gone how much anxiety and stress he’d been living under. His mood improves; as does his confidence with the knowledge that his future with Coulson is assured. 

 

 

Coulson takes Barton to Europe for their first mission together; it’s mostly reconnaissance, keeping tabs on two business men working in one of the large cities who are making shady deals with shady people. Over the three weeks they’re there, they learn to work well with each other. It’s almost eerie how well Barton works with him, picking up on body language and subtle verbal cues. He proves to be precise, observant and efficient in the field. 

A week into the mission, they’re both sitting and nursing latte’s outside on the patio of a cute little cafe, it’s mid afternoon, sunny with a slight summer breeze. The sidewalks are busy with pedestrians, most of them in business attire as they’re in the downtown core, watching the tall building half a block down and on the other side of the street for one of their marks. It’s a ways away, but there’s no other place to sit without being out of place. 

They sit in comfortable silence, Coulson is ‘reading’ the paper and Clint is watching the crowd, something it seems, a lot of people in Europe do while enjoying their coffee outside. Time drifts by, much like the people passing by their little round table, until Clint spots their mark down the street, walking towards the building they’re watching.

“Coulson, Bradburry is nearing the building from the west, wearing a red tie, and carrying grey briefcase, with the black pin stripe pattern.” He takes a sip of his now, cold coffee.

Coulson searches the street, before turning the page. “How are you sure it’s him, all I can make out clearly is the red tie” He tips his head down, as though he’s reading, but his eyes are on the man, way down the street.

“He’s got that hideous, creepy moustache, trust me, that’s him.” He’s looking at Coulson now, silently begging for him to listen.

Coulson looks over at Barton, noting how confident he looks and takes a gamble and trusts him. It won’t be a huge problem if Barton’s wrong, and flips his blue napkin over on the table, signaling the other team to start trailing Bradburry’s partner. 

Clint wants to smile, but instead apprehension of possibly being wrong eats away at his gut. Why wasn’t Coulson able to tell is was Bradburry? 

Coulson pulls a few bills out of his wallet and places them on the table before pushing his chair back and getting up, Barton smoothly following and walks out of the patio area and down the street away from the business building. He waits until they’re a block down the road before asking, “How good is your eyesight? I know medical has you down as perfect, but some of the things you can see, is extraordinary.”

Clint glances over, the wheels spinning in his head, as he thinks back on things growing up, and wonders why he never tried to figure out if his eyesight might also be better than your average humans...and hopes this is the reason Coulson didn’t recognize Bradburry. “I don’t know.” 

Coulson looks at Barton and wonders what else they should look into. “Well I guess we should figure that out.”

Clint’s lips quirk up in a cautious half smile, relieved that he’s got something more to offer and that Coulson seems pleased with him. The scent of fresh bread wafts past his nose, mixed with coffee and hot brick and dust, so far he likes Europe. He looks back over at Coulson, admiring the way his shoulders fill out his suit, the strong v of his back and the confident, smooth gait of his walk. Oh yeah, he definitely lucked out, somehow he got the perfect leader.

The mission wraps up without any hitches and is passed on to another team, one specializing in infiltration and intelligence gathering, basically being handed over to senior spies once Coulson determines that it’s worth further investigation. 

Coulson drives them to their extraction point after the hand-off, where their ride home is already waiting. He parks the car near the plane, turns the key in the ignition-killing the engine and looks over at Barton, who looks back and says “Good job Barton. Let’s go Home.”

Clint smiles and exits the car, following closely behind and climbs into the plane. Feeling ridiculously pleased, he even nods to acknowledge the pilot, an overture of friendliness he doesn’t usually exhibit, before settling into his seat. 

Coulson takes Barton out on missions that steadily increase in difficulty, until the time comes when his skills as a marksman are required.

Clint never asks questions, never balks at orders, and when the mission culminates to the elimination of the target, he doesn’t hesitate. He carries out the order and then asks what they’re having for dinner. Coulson’s not sure if this is a good or bad thing, but wraps up the mission and makes the arrangements for home.

On the plane Coulson asks, “Do you have any questions about the mission?“

Clint looks up from where he’s sprawled on the seat across from him on the tiny plane. “No.”

“Are you bothered by anything you’ve done so far?” Coulson presses.

“No, why, should I be?” Clint thinks back on the last few days, did he miss something?

“Not everybody can handle ending a life; I want to know how you feel about that. It’s different in simulations.” 

Clint relaxes and almost sighs in relief, “Coulson, I’m fine.” He can see Coulson doesn’t look appeased with that, so he continues, “Look I’m not squeamish about” He pauses looking for the right words, but there isn’t a pleasant way to say it. “About killing, I don’t know if that makes me...cold, but it’s just the way it is.” He hasn’t felt bad for anybody since he got James murdered, his tutor had been the only other person besides Coulson who had been kind to him. 

Coulson takes in the easy posture, and the smooth, unstressed tone of Barton’s voice, and decides that the young Agent is telling the truth. “Alright.” 

Clint looks at his Handler a moment before continuing. “It’s less messy from a distance too.” It’s only the two of them in the plane. “ I uh, killed a guy while I was with Drummel, broke his neck as Koda. But we struggled first and I ripped into his arms, there was blood everywhere.” 

Coulson takes in this new piece of information calmly, keeping his expression neutral. “How did it happen?”

Clint hurriedly adds, “He was going to shoot me.” Least Coulson think he did it for shit’s and giggles.

Coulson wants to know how it started and where it occurred among other things, but doesn’t want to press and have Clint clam up. “Were you ok afterwards?”

Clint thinks back to the mess and the weird plane ride home, but he doesn’t think that’s what Coulson is asking. “I was surprised with it afterwards, but I didn’t regret it.” He hopes that doesn’t make him sound like a psycho.

Coulson nods, “I’m glad you weren’t hurt.” One day, he would like to be told the whole story, but for now he’ll make a note on it. He wonders if it happened when Drummel was trying to make connections into AIM. 

 

 

A few months later, Coulson plans a mission to confiscate a piece of tech relating to hydra, which creatively enough is being couriered by Miguel, the head of a Mexican drug Cartel. He doesn’t want to disrupt the Cartel; as Shield has eyes and ears in place throughout their organization, therefore making it easy to gather information. Hence how they know about the hydra tech being moved. But with Koda, getting in and getting out would be easy and stealthy. He’s arranged to sell Koda to the Cartel as a trained guard dog, through Pedro a crooked cop who, for a fee, would then sell Koda to Manuel. Manuel, is an individual known to acquire small things when Miguel requires them, and sometimes things he doesn’t. Like a new guard dog, for a small fee of course. 

Clint’s skimming through the mission briefing, but can’t find the attached pictures. “What am I looking for?” He looks up with a frown to see Coulson holding out another small envelope. “Did I not grab that?”

Coulson shakes his head. “No, I have them in my folder.”

Clint reaches over, takes the envelope and slides the photos out. “So I’m looking for a small, rectangular box witha skull and octopus arms on it.”

“Yes, intelligence says it should be the size of a paperback book. We’re not entirely sure where it’ll be, but best guess is some place secure. Try Miguel’s office, study and bedroom first.”

Clint looks at the photo of the small ornate box, and wonders what’s inside it. But apparently he doesn’t have the clearance for that information yet. 

Two days after landing in Tijuana, Clint’s taken to Miguel’s mansion by Manuel, who is a short, fierce looking little man, and is immediately given over to a man named Juan. The guard is slight in stature, young, clean shaven with short dark hair. On first introduction, his new handler is overly rough and gruff and barks commands; he glares at Clint as if waiting for any sign of disobedience. But Clint stays on his best behaviour; and focuses on memorizing the estate grounds, which are vast, sprawling and beautiful. The hot weather sucks with such a thick coat of fur, and by the afternoon he’s hot and thirsty and kind of miserable.

Juan warms up to him surprisingly quick, Clint leans into his leg and hand showing affection and lies on the toes of his boots when they stop to rest mid-day. When Juan takes them over to the guard shack and shows him off in the evening, Clint obediently shakes a paw, rolls over and howls on command. The guards slap Juan on the back, all smiles, talking loudly with one another. Clint doesn’t understand a lot of Spanish, he’s learned enough to understand his commands and basic words and phrases, so he has no idea what they’re saying. 

Three days later, late in the evening, Clint again slips out of his kennel located in the second building near the main mansion, to look for Miguel. He’s been searching the mansion, and so far has found nothing in Miguel’s bedroom and nothing in the study but last night he’s pretty sure he found the office on the third floor. Unfortunately it was locked and before he could look for the keys, he was discovered by house security and amiably taken back to the kennel with a couple of fond pats to the head. 

Trotting across the dark lawn, he’s still in awe over how large, how beautiful the grounds are, even at night. Coconut trees, manicured green lawns and narrow flower beds line some of the brick walkways, it’s unbelievable. The smells are abundant and different, he’s almost sad he’ll be leaving soon. The nights are much cooler than the days, but still warm enough to be uncomfortable. He avoids the artfully lighted walkways and takes a darker route to the mansion, where it’s easy to get inside. Open door ways and windows are abundant here; he supposes the guards walking around the property with AR15 rifles are a pretty good deterrent to most trespassers.

Once inside he walks down hallways and through open arched doorways into different rooms until he finds Miguel in the large study, it’s dimly lit by a single ornate lamp. The big open room is decorated in all dark furniture, large book shelves, extravagant chandeliers, drapes and carpets. The furniture reminds him of Drummel’s study, it’s enough to make him cringe. He fucking hates it.

He nudges the door open wider and pads lightly into the room. This catches Miguel’s attention and the older man looks over, spotting Clint who wags his tail, Miguel smiles and calls him over. Clint trots over and lays his head on Miguel’s lap and the older man talks quietly to him, but again Clint has no idea what is being said. Miguel pets him a little longer and then motions to the floor, Clint steps back and lies down beside the overstuffed, dark brown leather chair. Miguel nods his head approvingly and picks up his book from the side table, where Clint spies a set of keys and continues reading.

Clint patiently waits, he needs those keys but he’s not sure how he’s going to get them. He waits and waits until the book in Miguel’s hand slowly flops down to the older man’s lap in lax hands and his heavy breathing fills the room. 

He can’t believe his luck, what are the odds of this? He gets up and gently takes the keys between his teeth and slowly backs away, eyes still on the sleeping man until he’s by the door. He turns and slips out, heading directly to the third floor where the drug lords office is located. He makes it there without being seen and shifts back to human, unlocks and enters the office. And sweet jesus, what a relief it is to be naked and finally able to cool down a bit.

He searches through drawers, shelves, cupboards and then for good measure checks the walls and floor looking for hidden safes and finds one beneath the carpet in front of the desk.

Which ok cool, but now he has to get into it. He slides his fingers down along the sides, grabs the edges and heaves it up and out of its hole in the floor with straining muscles, the thing is heavy. Placing it gently on the floor, he turns it around and looks at it. It’s a small safe, square in shape, maybe a foot wide and high with a digital key pad on the front with a hidden key lock option for opening. He checks the back and is relieved to see two tiny circular holes on either side. Fuck yeah, if he can find something long and thin to stick in the holes to push the reset button inside, he can reset the lock code.

Looking around the office, relief pulls his lips up into a smile; in the corner by the window is a tall, opaque white vase with decorative bamboo shoots and some sort of dried flower. Pushing up to his feet he grabs a thin bamboo piece, snaps it shorter, walks back and then sticks it in the hole. He spends minutes jabbing it around until he feels a nub and pushes at it, a quiet beep indicating the reset has been set. He turns the safe, pokes the number one five times and hits enter, the safe door opens. He peers inside and pushes aside, money, a ring, a small black bag of something to pick up the small ornate box with the hydra symbol in it.

He closes the safe door and quietly places it back in its snug hole in the floor, and sets the office back to the way he found it and leaves, closing the door behind him. Shifting back to his wolf, he carries the box between his teeth and makes his way quickly out of the mansion. He lopes across the sprawling, manicured lawns to the east corner of the perimeter chain link fence, where if all has gone well, Coulson has cut a small portion of the chain links so he can slip through. Adrenaline pumping, so close to being done, he searches for the barely noticeable break in the fence, getting nervous that it’s taking so long. Finding it, he pushes his nose through, crawling on his tummy as he struggles through, grateful of his thick coat protecting him from the sharp edges.

He runs through trees, down and across a few roads, stopping to check road signs, until he makes it to the black, run down shuttle van Phil is waiting in about five kilometers from Miguel’s property. Phil opens the side door and Clint jumps in quickly, it’s cramped inside with his considerable size. He jumps up and sits slight hunched over on the back seat bench, and looks at Phil who’s looking back, and shakes the box in his jaw, ears perked up and tail thumping back and forth. 

 

Coulson smiles, it’s hard not to, Clint’s charmingly endearing when he’s happy and in wolf form, he holds out his hand and Clint drops the wet box into his waiting palm.

“Good work Barton.” He wipes the drool off the box with a paper napkin.

Clint shifts back to human, naked and sitting on the dirty bench seat of the van, shadows half concealing him, but enough is illuminated by moon and ambient street lights that Phil is able to make out smooth planes of muscles and skin. He looks away, reaching for the neatly piled set of clothes on the passenger front seat and passes them over.

Clint grabs his clothes, and begins the awkward process of dressing in a cramped space. “Fuck, I’m still hot; you have no idea how awful this humidity is when you’re wearing a fur coat.” 

Phil glances over and passes Clint a water bottle. “You mean to say your hair was frizzy and unmanageable?” Watching as Clint shimmies into his jeans, he looks up just in time to catch Clint’s glare. 

Coulson asks more seriously, “Did everything go as planned?” 

“Yeah, worked great, Miguel fell asleep and I just took his keys.” Clint pulls his shirt on and climbs into the front seat.

Coulson follows and starts the van, driving them down the road at a sedate speed, heading towards a barren airfield where their ride will meet them.

Clint sits comfortably in his seat, leaning against the door, memories of Drummel’s study distracting him. “You know,” He says, and pauses, not sure where he’s going with this. “I hate dark brown furniture, rosewood or Walnut, whatever it’s called.”

Phil doesn’t say anything, or move for that matter, just drives and keeps his gaze on the road.

“Drummel’s whole house was furnished with all these expensive woods and leathers. Miguel’s study was similar.” He stops and it’s quiet in the van for awhile. They pass an area full of stores and clubs, the streets full of locals and tourists before he continues. “My first tutor was a man named James, he was a good guy, like honestly good. I fucked up one day and they shot him. The study table was this dark red wood, his blood just seemed to blend right in....but on the floor it looked like a puddle of spilt paint, like is wasn’t real. But the smell...” And the feel of it crusting on his skin.

He looks over at Phil who just nods encouragingly. “I tried thinking of ways to leave at first you know...I didn’t want to stay. But after James...” He stops, shakes his head and smiles too wide to be genuine, and his voice is still too low to be flippant. “I’m not saying all dark furniture, I like black... black is ok.”

Phil looks over again, these moments are so random and sparse in their telling, and a little bit heart breaking. “Well that’s because your bias, you have to love black, what with your thick, soft coat.”

Clint looks over, with something that looks like relief and honest amusement. “You know, you can run your fingers through my fur next time, I know you want to.” He wags his eyebrows.

Phil looks over, trying to discern the meaning of that. “If you’re that hard up for a brush, I can take you to the groomers.”

“You’re a hard man Coulson.” Clint says, it’s soothing, this banter between them, its easy now. He cranks up the air conditioning and settles back into the seat, tired and watches as the scenery is slowly illuminated by the rising sun. 

 

 

Two weeks later on their way back from Indonesia, sitting comfortably in one of Shield’s planes, Clint asks “Hey, can I use my bow on missions?” He takes a breath, slightly nervous. “It would be perfect for stealth, and I realize it’s not gonna be useful in every situation...” He wants this, wants his bow, he’s good, really good with it, he can pull things off with the bow that he can’t with a gun. And it feels good, it’s soft and smooth when he looses an arrow, guns are loud a recoil back. 

Coulson looks over briefly then says, “You can bring it along with you and we’ll see how things play out.”

Clint smiles, thoroughly pleased. “Thank you.” He leans his head back and closes his eyes. 

 

Coulson likes it when Clint smiles, looking relaxed and comfortable, it doesn’t happen much when there’s others around. Its hard not to admire Barton’s lithely muscled form sprawled next to him, especially when that form is covered in a tight t-shirt. He shakes his head, and goes back to the report he’s writing. 

 

 

Clint is splayed out on the sofa in Phil’s office reading a book, the afternoon sunshine streaming in through the window, warming his side and stomach, it feels good. The scratch of a pencil on paper, coupled by clacking keys is soothing back ground noise as Phil completes paper work at his desk. A knock on the door, interrupts the quiet moment.

Phil looks up. “Come in.”

Sitwell pokes his head in and smiles when he spots Clint on the sofa. “Afternoon Coulson, mind if I steal your Agent for a couple hours?”

Clint looks up, but it’s Phil who asks, “Why?”

Sitwell smiles and looks over to Clint. “I just found a new dog park in the yuppy side of town, full of small dogs well dressed people.”

Clint grins, “Really? What’s the story this time?”

“I was thinking, I just rescued you from the shelter, where they seized you from an illegal racing ring.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Clint’s eyes widened in mirth, he looks over at Phil. “What do you think, am I greyhound material?”

Phil quirked an eyebrow and sighs. “You know, one of these days, someone is going to call animal control.”

Clint huffs. “I only ever tackle Sitwell. And last time it was hilarious, I bit down on his slacks and didn’t let go the entire time, even as we walked out of the park, you shoulda seen their faces!”

“MmmHmm, have fun gentleman. I don’t want to be getting any phone calls.”

Clint smiles and waves as he leaves. 

 

\-------------------

 

Its two weeks later Coulson drags him down to medical. They walk in and stop at the reception desk, with Clint trailing behind. 

The girl behind the desk smiles when she sees him and points to the back. “They’re waiting for you in bay five, Agent Coulson.”

Coulson nods and makes his way to bay five, where Dr. Molsa and Dr. Cooper are waiting for them. Bay five is an enclosed room with a window where the blinds are closed for privacy. 

He motions for Clint to precede him into the room and to the bed, where Clint sits sullenly.

Dr. Molsa, smiles. “Clint, my dear boy, what seems to be the matter?” 

Coulson likes Mosla, even from their first meeting when Koda had been flown in bleeding from Drummel’s mansion. The vet has a gentle way about him, great with animals and good with people. He’s glad he made the choice to retain him as Koda’s vet. Dr. Cooper is the only other doctor on base who’s been appraised of the situation with Clint, and is his full time human doctor. She’s young, smart and efficient with a slightly timid demeanor, exactly the sort of non-threatening personality Clint needs in his medical staff.

Clint grimaces. “I uh, feel sick all the time lately and my stomach hurts.” He fidgets slightly, still not entirely comfortable in medical and he feels bad, because Cooper and Molsa are great to him. 

Dr. Cooper steps forward. “Can you lift up your shirt?” 

Clint tugs it up, his eyes flicking over to Coulson, before sliding back to Dr. Cooper. 

Dr. Cooper presses cool finger tips into his abdomen and sides, he winces in a few spots. 

She looks up at him. “Is it sharp pains or stomach cramps?”

Clint frowns, thinking about it. “More of an ache.”

“Do have constipation, bloating?” She asks.

“Uh, well more of the opposite actually.” He can feel his cheeks heating up and hopes they’re not ridiculously pink.

“Fever, vomiting, difficulty breathing, rashes?” She’s starring at him expectantly, clipboard in-hand.

“No, to all of the above.” He’s still holding his shirt up, but slowly starts to bring his hands down. He figures they’ll say something if he’s not supposed to, but they’re pretty bad at forgetfully leaving him in awkward poses.

Dr. Molsa catches his attention. “Is this happening in wolf form as well?”

Clint nods his head.

Dr. Cooper looks over at Dr. Molsa then back to Clint. “Ok, we’re going to pull some blood, take some x-rays, and we’re going to need a stool sample.”

Clint blushes again, but sighs feeling resigned. “Yeah, ok”

Because of their in-house labs, he gets his results back the next day, and goes back to Bay 5 to see his doctors with Coulson right beside him.

Coulson looks at the doctors, “What are the tests results?” He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t been worrying. Clint’s body has a fairly high regeneration rate and a higher than normal metabolism, which means that he doesn’t normally come down with things and when he does, he recovers quickly.

Dr. Molsa actually smiles at him, then looks over to Clint. “Mr. Barton, I regret to inform you, you have worms.”

“What?” Clint is now, officially embarrassed.

Dr. Mosla digs into his pocket and retrieves a full pill bottle and hands it over. “You’ll need to take these for several weeks until they’re done.”

Clint takes the bottle. “But how?”

“Have you been playing with other animals or been to any farms, parks or other areas frequented by animals or eaten raw fish?” Molsa asks.

Clint thinks about it, then frowns in annoyance. “God damn Sitwell and his damn dog park games.”

Coulson smiles, relieved and amused. “But you said it was, and I quote ‘Hilarious’.”

Clint glares but concedes, because dammit, it was fun, but maybe not worth getting worms over.

Dr. Molsa raises a hand to get both of their attentions. “You’re visiting dog parks?”

Clint nods haltingly, not sure he’s going to like what comes next.

“Oh, how remiss of me.” Molsa frowns slightly, flipping back a few pages in Clint’s medical chart. “ You’re going to need the appropriate shots and regular de-worming. I’ll make a note on your chart.”

Clint stares at him a moment, not enthused at all by this development. “Oh.....great.” He looks over to Coulson, who is rocking the unfazed, deadpan look, like this sort of thing happens all the time. He looks back at Dr. Molsa. “Hey Doc, I uh, was wondering, did you uh, I had a chip in my back, from before.” He stops, sort of expecting Molsa to get what he’s saying, but instead the Vet is waiting patiently for him to continue. “Is it still there?”

Dr. Molsa pauses for a moment, “You mean the identification chip? When you first came in, I thought you were a wolf, and a tracker chip is pretty common so I left it in.”

Coulson realizes what has Clint worried. “It was deactivated, but left in place; we didn’t see any reason to have it removed.”

Clint shrugs, it’s not like he wants to leave anyways or anyone else is looking for him. “Yeah, ok.”

 

 

 

It’s a year later and they’re holed up in a shitty, rundown motel in Sweden with a barely working heater in the middle of winter. They’ve spent ten long, cold days tracking, watching and finally terminating their targets. Clint’s exhausted, and so is Coulson. They get into the room, wash up, close the curtains against the late afternoon sun and fall into the one double bed in the room. Both in boxers and t-Shirts, they lay next to each other for warmth under thick blankets and fall asleep quickly, too tired to think too much about it.

Clint wakes slowly to a dark room, the moon light reflecting off the snow barely filters in through the curtains. He can feel the soft tickle of Coulson breathing close to his ear, and smiles as Coulson’s smell wafts over him to chase away the musty smell of the room. He’s deliciously warm where they’re pressed together.

Awareness chases away the clinging remnants of sleep; when he realizes Coulson is draped heavily over him. Spooned up behind, arm wrapped around his middle, hand tucked under his chest and a leg thrown in-between his. And Clint can clearly feel the hardness of Coulson’s dick pressing firmly against his ass; his heart beats faster, his own dick hardening in sudden want. 

Clint’s twenty-four and being horny certainly isn’t new, jerking off is a regular thing, but wanting to be fucked isn’t. At least not with anybody he’s come into contact with, his fucked up past might have something to do with it. The urge to roll-over for Coulson isn’t completely new either, just not quite so sexually. It’s crossed his mind from time to time, but Coulson has never indicated any interest. This though, being in bed with Coulson draped over him with a hard dick, is certainly an eye opener.

Logically he knows it’s probably only morning wood, but that doesn’t lessen the urge to rub his ass along the stiff shaft like a bitch in heat. He cringes at the thought, he should be ashamed of thinking nasty shit like that, but his cock is so hard now, the flush of want making him hot and horny. Whatever, bitch in heat is accurate for the way he wants to be fucked right now.

He gives in and relaxes the muscles in his back and allows the small undulating motions of his hips to rub back against Coulson’s cloth covered cock. Minutes pass until Coulson’s arm tightens and his hips begin to push forward, rubbing against Clint’s ass. His breathing deepens, and he nuzzles his nose along the back of Clint’s neck. 

Coulson wakes up to warmth, the solidness of Clint in his arms and to the aching fullness of his dick pressed into the warm firmness of something pleasant. Wait a minute, that didn’t seem right, he opens his eyes to see what he’s doing, and to who.

Clint knows exactly when Coulson fully wakes, because he goes still and rigid behind him. And fuck no, not right now; not when they’re in bed and the both of them are so hard. Clint arches his back a little so he can push his ass back into Coulson’s cock, rubbing it along the crack of his ass. Coulson still doesn’t move, so he utters in a low, pleading voice “Please Coulson...”

Coulson takes a considering pause, he knows he should move away, get up and be the responsible one. He’s the Senior Agent and he doesn’t want to take advantage of any misguided sense of duty or loyalty. This is probably a very bad idea. But hearing Clint beg makes his dick twitch, weakens his resolve, he’s thought about this during quiet moments alone. He moves the hand that’s still clinging to Clint’s chest, down until it finds Clint’s hard, cloth covered cock. He can’t deny that Clint isn’t interested, or that he doesn’t want to take what’s being offered.

Clint moans, the feeling of Coulson’s hand on his dick is good, so good, but not enough. He shoves his own hand down, and pushes his boxer briefs down his hips as far as he can, which isn’t actually much, but enough to get them under his balls to expose his ass and throbbing shaft. 

Coulson grunts, the small sounds Clint is making while writhing against him, encourages him further, he slides his hand over the silky skin of Clint’s dick, stopping at the base to squeeze firmly, pulling a chocked groan from the archer. Against his better judgement, he roughly pushes his own underwear down, freeing his cock, and the feeling of Clint’s bare, warm skin against him is amazing. Bringing his hand to his mouth, he coats it with spit and wraps it around his own cock, smearing the excess on Clint’s tiny pucker. He moves so he can teasingly slide his cock up and down the crack of Clint’s ass, wrapping his still slick hand around the younger Agents dick, slowly stroking it. 

Clint moans, arching his back more, trying to angle his ass to a better position for fucking, but Coulson just keeps sliding against him, it’s maddening. He wants more, the hand on his cock is barely moving, the teasing swipe against his anus leaves him moaning in frustration, breathing hard. He’s never been this turned on before, so horny and desperate for more, to be fucked.

“Please...please fuck me....” Clint pleads.

“God Clint, you got me so hard.” Coulson coats his cock with more spit, grabs Clint’s hip firmly with his hand and says “Stay still a minute.” He grabs his cock, guiding it to Clint’s anus, and pressing forward slowly. There’s firm resistance, and he makes a motion to back away when Clint reaches back to cling to his thigh.

“Please don’t stop.” Clint begs, he’s so close to getting what he wants, he doesn’t understand why the older man isn’t pushing into him.

“Fuck you’re so tight, I don’t want to hurt you. Try to relax more.” Coulson presses forward slowly again, until just the head of his cock slips in, the snug fit makes him groan loudly. Pausing, he gathers more saliva in his fingers to add to the shaft, slicking it up more. Placing his hand back to the smooth skin of Clint’s hip he rocks forward slowly again with controlled patience. He’s so hard, and it feels so good, listening to Clint suck in breath and groan makes it so much more difficult to concentrate on being gentle. 

Clint grunts, it’s intense, the fullness and burn in his ass, he takes over stroking his still hard cock, he squeezes his eyes tight, it’s amazing. He’s never wanted this so much before or was hard while being taken, and is surprised how even the burn doesn’t affect how good it feels. He’s always wondered why men liked to bottom, but if this is how sex is supposed to be, he totally understands now why people wanted to do it all the time. He grits his teeth, Coulson’s slow push in is a confusing mix of sensations, he loves it slow, loves how it makes him want more, yet at the same time, not enough. He moans and rocks his hips back. “ Ah! Fuck! Dammit, C’mon, fuck me.” 

“Fuck yes.” Coulson gasps, snapping his hips forward to bury himself balls deep, the hot tightness is incredible, his hand clenches around Clint’s hip bone. He pulls back a little to thrust back in, slowly building up to longer, harder thrusts. 

Clint stops stroking his cock, he wants this to last, and he isn’t going to if he keeps playing with himself. The smell of Coulson, the pressure of his warm, strong hands on him, the hot, sweat slicked skin of where they’re pressed against each other is intoxicating. He wants more, wants it harder, wants to hear Coulson’s moans.

“Harder, please I want more.” Clint gasps.

Coulson pushes a hand against Clint’s shoulder, urging him to lay flat on his tummy. Coulson shifts to lay straddling Clint’s thighs, dick still deep inside, able now to sink deeper with every forceful drive forward. Clint tilts his ass up, tensing his thigh and back muscles to hold himself up in position, loving the feeling of Coulson mounting him, each powerful lunge shoving him down into the bed. And that should maybe make him pause, this position, but it feels too good right now to think about it.

Coulson braces himself up on both elbows, one hand gripping Clint’s wrist tightly, the other flat on the bed. Roughly fucking into his ass, finesse all but gone; bearing down into the slick, hot heat, steadily moving towards his orgasm. He’s so close; his balls are tightening, pleasure ratcheting up, “Clint, I’m not going to last much longer.” He’s panting now.

Clint moans, shifting his hips a bit, and suddenly Coulson’s dick is sliding against something that causes him to cry out, sparks of pleasure flaring within. “Ah, yeah, that’s so good, fuck just like that, gonna come too.” Between the bed rubbing roughly on his dick, Coulson pounding into him from behind, hitting that sweet spot that makes him incoherent and the thought of Coulson coming inside of him, he’s done. His orgasm hits hard, he grips the sheets in his fists, muscles tensing up, choking out a strangled moan. 

The muscles in Clint’s ass clench tight around his dick, and that’s all it takes, he slams in hard with a shout and comes, riding the spasms with short thrusts as his seed empties inside Clint. He rests his weight on Clint’s sweaty back, breathing hard for a few minutes, before gently pulling out, and lying on his back. 

Clint turns his head to look at Coulson. “If I ‘d known sex could be that good, I woulda been trying that sooner.....ugh I’m lying it the wet spot.” Clint groans, moving to sit up.

The air in the room quickly cools Coulson’s sweaty skin; as he lays there catching his breath. He watches Clint sit up, and feels a twinge of guilt even as he admires Clint’s muscular arms, the slope of his chest and the contours of abs. He sighs, not in regret but with the fact that he needs to say something. “Clint, you know this isn’t something I expected, or have a right to ask of you, right? “

Clint pauses in pulling his underwear all the way off. “I wanted it Coulson, “

Coulson interrupts, “Phil, I think it’s better if you call me Phil right now.”

Clint nods. “Don’t get weird Phil, I’m not mindless.” He slides out of bed and walks to the bathroom, turns the shower on and gets in. As he’s soaping off, he frowns when he realizes this, showering right after, was the routine he had with Drummel. He shakes his head in an effort to dismiss it as trivial, as behaviours go, this one isn’t too bad. He gets out, towels off and brings a damp face cloth back for Phil. 

He hands the cloth to over, “Here.” Then grabs one of the pillows and strips the pillow case off. “Mind if we put this over the wet spot?”

Coulson takes the pillow case and drapes it on the bed, “Of Course.” He wipes off his now soft cock, and places the damp cloth on the bedside table; watches as Clint sorts out the blankets and crawls back in. “Wait, what did you mean by ‘If you knew it would be this good’, were you..is this the first time you’ve had sex?”

Clint takes a moment to think about that. “Uh, yup.” It’s better this way. “Don’t make it a big deal, it was awesome.”

Phil isn’t too sure what to say to that, so he lets it go, because it was better than good, and Clint’s an adult able to make his own choices. Clint curls up next to him, all warm and smelling of cheap hotel soap, his breathing evens out quickly into sleep. Coulson smiles, throws an arm over him, and closes his eyes. This is comfortable, although maybe not the best idea, certainly not professional, but it happened and he’ll deal with the rest tomorrow, when he’s not so tired.

The next day is business as usual; they make it State-side, debrief and go their separate ways, Coulson heading off base to his apartment. 

Clint still lives on base in the same tiny room. Every time Coulson asks him why, he waves him off with replies like “Haven’t had time”, or “why would I want to fight traffic every morning on my way to work.” But the thought of leaving, living on his own is completely foreign, the idea daunting, his Shield room may be tiny, but it’s safe and familiar. 

It doesn’t bother him when they don’t mention what happened and Coulson leaves for his apartment at the end of each day the rest of the week. It’s their normal routine and that’s comforting, no matter what happened between them in the motel. He’s accustomed to engaging in sex and then being left alone for a few days before being called for again. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to be close to Coulson, that’s never changed. But he does jerk off at night to the memory of Coulson fucking him, and that’s definitely new. 

On the following Friday, Clint flops onto Coulson’s sofa at seven, he’s been busy and hasn’t eaten yet, but doesn’t want to miss seeing Coulson before he leaves for the night and possibly the weekend. 

Coulson looks up and stares at Clint, face un-readable.

Clint tilts his head, feeling like he’s missing something. “What?”

Coulson leans back in his Chair. “Would you like to come over to my place tonight?” He’s been at odds over how to deal with what happened between the two of them in Siberia, for the entire week. He can’t exactly transfer Clint over to another Senior Handler, Clint is fairly unsocial and impertinent with other authority figures. And it’s ridiculous since they have year’s worth of trust behind them. Also, and if he’s being honest, he doesn’t want to give Clint up, doesn’t trust anyone else with him. But he really wants to take Clint home, maybe see where things go. It’s not smart or responsible, and definitely not appropriate for a Handler and Asset, the power dynamic alone could be seen as an abuse of authority.

Clint smiles, pretty sure he’s going to get sex again. “Need someone to help paint your toes?”

“I was thinking more like dinner and drinks, relax and watch TV, like we did years ago.”

Clint’s cheeks flush, suddenly nervous, that was a lot more than just sex, and it was something he really wanted. “Yeah, I’d like that. Um...You want me to meet you there? Or...Uh, Should I bring something?...” Were you supposed to bring a house gift? Or something for dinner, like wine or food? He can’t remember the proper etiquette for house parties...wait two people didn’t make a house party..dinner party? Date? 

Coulson lips pull up into a smirk, Clint’s face has that slightly panicked look to it. And for some reason that calms him, if nothing else, if everything falls apart because of work, at least he can show Clint what a healthy relationship looks like. The thought of someone else taking advantage of Clint’s messed up history to use him, makes him want to protect what’s his. “Now who’s being weird? Relax Clint, we’ll leave together, and we’ll order take-out.“ He looks back down at his desk and the papers on it. “Give me an hour and we can go.”

Clint nods. Yeah, take-out sounded easy.

Later, when they’re sitting on the sofa, eating pizza and watching bad reality TV, Clint looks over and says, “This is so much better than dog kibble.” 

Coulson laughs. “Yeah, I kinda wondered why you chose to eat it.”

Clint shrugs. “Was used to it, plus it doesn’t actually taste that bad. But this is definitely better.” He smiles.

“Why’d you stay a Wolf for so long?” Coulson’s never asked before.

“It was easier; everything was always simpler and I was never..uh, hurt.. when I was a Wolf. Safer I guess. But it did get frustrating at times” Clint says, a rueful grin on his lips.

Coulson’s lips thin. “Ok.” He doesn’t like the sounds of that, the possibilities of what might have happened to Clint are endless, and he’s very imaginative. “What made you decide to finally change back?” There are so many questions he wants to ask.

Clint looks up to stare into Coulson eyes, considering giving a flippant answer. “I didn’t want you to leave me, I was worried I’d be considered useless and be passed off to someone else again. “ But maybe honesty is better.

Coulson’s eyes soften, it does funny things to him to hear that. “I’m glad you did, people were starting to look at me funny for having serious conversations with a wolf.”

Clint chuckles, he’d actually wondered about that. “I can’t picture anyone being foolish enough to say anything.” He pauses, looks around the living room. “Your place hasn’t changed much since I was here last.”

Coulson looks around. “Sure it has, I got a new plant since then.”

Clint smiles. At the end of the night, he helps clean up. He’s standing in the kitchen rinsing off a plate, when Coulson moves to stand close behind him.

Phil rests a hand lightly on Clint’s hip. “You’re more than welcome to use the guest room tonight, but I’ll admit to hoping you’d spend the night in mine.” He says, taking the dish out of Clint’s hand and putting it in the sink.

Clint leans back into the solid frame behind him. “Your room sounds better.”

Coulson turns Clint towards him by the arm. Chest to chest, he leans forward to kiss him, it’s soft, tentative at first. Phil’s tongue slides along Clint’s full, soft lips, asking for more and licking into the sweet, wet heat of Clint’s mouth when the archer yields and opens to him. They both groan, clinging tightly to each other as they lick, nip and kiss messily, stubble rubbing coarsely against chin and upper lip.

Phil grabs Clint by the upper arms and pulls him away and growls. “I want you.” He doesn’t let go, but proceeds to pull Clint away from the sink and marches him backwards to the bedroom.

Clint smiles, “Yes Sir.” As Phil’s strong hands grip him tightly. The sight of Phil’s dress shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows, showing off corded forearm muscles, is hot. He loves the strength in Phil’s lean frame, the quiet controlled power that exudes authority.  
His gaze lifts back up to stare into Phil’s intense eyes, he swallows unable to look away. His body sings in response, he wants to bare his neck while begging to suck his cock, it’s hot as hell.

They make it to the bedroom where Phil pushes Clint backwards onto the bed, following fluidly to straddle his lap.

He tugs the black t-shirt up and off Clint, leaning in to kiss him briefly before pushing him down flat to the bed. He takes a moment admire the smooth, firm skin stretched over rolling muscle, wide shoulders and hairless chest, all the way down to his narrow hips. Not a single scar mars his smooth, pale flesh. He unbuttons his own shirt and allows Clint to tug it off and toss it to the floor. He leans down, unable to resist the delight of kissing him, grinding his hard, trapped length against Clint’s denim covered cock.

Clint groans and reaches down to fumble with the button of his jeans. “Fuck, please take off your pants. There should be a ‘No pants’ rule on the bed.”

Phil chuckles. “It’s a good rule.” He sits up and moves to stand, shimming his pants and underwear off to puddle around his feet on the floor. He steps out of them and then grabs the waist band of Clint’s hastily unbuttoned jeans and pulls them off along with the socks. He’s not a fan of socks while naked.

He kneels back down on the bed and twists to the side to grab the lube from the bedside table, flicking the cap open and says, “Move further up the bed” 

Clint moves so that his head is on the pillow. Phil settles between Clint’s spread thighs and bends to lick and nip at Clint’s lips and jaw, reaching down to palm the archer’s cock. His hand wetly gliding up and down Clint’s hard length. Eyes’ narrowing in lust as Clint arches and moans beneath him, it’s amazing seeing him come undone so quickly, so openly with so little.  
He slides his hand further back, to slip over and past his balls to rub teasingly at his puckered asshole. 

Clint spreads his legs even further, eyes glued to Phil’s, silently encouraging him for more. 

Phil pauses, two fingers pressed over Clint’s entrance. “Do you want this? You want more?”

“Yes, fuck yes I want more, you’re a god damn tease.” It’s funny how he’s always hated fingers in him before, but now he’s begging for it. His dick twitches as Phil slips two fingers into him, the feeling is uncomfortable at first but not painful, they slide all the way in and pause. Phil crooks them, gently rubbing and it’s amazing, he grabs onto Phil’s free upper arm and squeezes and swears loudly. Beads of glistening pre-cum form at the tip of his dick, as his nerves sing with electricity from the small spot inside where Phil is ruthlessly, yet gently stroking.  
“Jesus Christ, please stop or I’m going to come all over myself. Fucking fuck!”

Phil leans in to bite hard at the side of Clint’s neck. “Good, cause I want to fuck you so bad.”

“Ah, god yes!” Clint groans as Phil removes his fingers. He shimmies up a little, trying to find room to sit up or move his legs so that he can turn over while Phil is still leaning over him.

Phil frowns and pushes Clint back down with a splayed hand on the chest. “Where you going?”

Clint stops, letting himself be pushed back down obediently with a perplexed look. “Turning over, I thought you wanted my ass?” Had he missed something?

“I do, but I want you like this.” Phil cocks his head to the side in askance. “Unless you’d prefer it from behind?” 

“No, no, this is good.” Clint settles back, bending and spreading his legs. He’s never had sex in this position before, and the idea of being able to see Phil on top of him, is better than good. He watches as Phil takes himself in hand and guides his cock to press unyieldingly against his ass. There’s a moment of uncomfortable resistance as Phil’s girth opens him up, but then he’s sliding slowly, slickly forward, and that feels better. 

Phil repositions his hand on the bed beside his shoulder to better support himself. The movement draws Clint’s attention away from watching Phil’s impressive cock slowly sink into him, to stare into the grey eyes above him.

Staring into Phil’s eyes only inches away from him is frighteningly intimate, he wants to look away because he suddenly uncertainty in what to do, it’s embarrassing. He wonders frantically if Phil can see his uncertainty just by looking at him. And that makes him suddenly aware of his hands...Holy fuck, what’s he supposed to do with his own hands? Jesus, talk about awkward, he’s never had to think about it before, he’s either been told what to do or just clung to the sheets. What would normal people be doing right now? Not lying there, arms at their sides staring wide eyed up at their partner dumbly, that’s for sure. 

Phil saves him by leaning down, eyes closed to capture Clint’s lips in a deep, wet kiss, rocking his hips forward to fully sheath himself inside Clint and pausing. And holy shit that feels good, ridiculously distracting him from his strange moment of panic. ‘Fuck it’ he thinks, and reaches up to run his hands over Phil’s strong back. The warm solidness of Phil’s body, the rolls and dips of muscle, the smell and weight of him is real and for now, all his. Clint slides his hands down to Phil’s hips, then back up to cling to his strong shoulders. God, being able to grope was awesome! 

“Jesus Phil, move!” The thrumming tension of waiting and wanting more, the teasing, hot slide of Phil’s fat dick in him only to halt makes him desperate for more. And the distracting, all consuming feeling of Phil’s heavy, hot weight on top of him is amazing, but being fucked would be even better.

Phil releases Clint’s full lips to lift himself up onto his elbows, looking down the archer’s muscled, splayed out body beneath him. He starts a steady rhythm of shallow, slow hard thrusts that rock Clint forward every time, hoping to make this last. He bends down to nuzzle and mouth at Clint’s neck and shoulder, teeth gently scraping over smooth, firm skin; breathing him in. Reveling in the tight, hot silky grip around his cock, and listening to the wanton moans and strangled noises coming from Clint’s parted lips. Enjoying the slightly roughened skin of Clint’s fingers sliding against his now sweat dampened back. It’s a tangled web of sensation, all of it heightening the need to spill his seed. His steady rhythm starts degrading into longer, faster thrusts; the sound of flesh slapping flesh a steady back drop of noise to his own moans joining Clint’s to fill the room. 

“You feel so good.” He moves to claim Clint’s lips again, licking into his mouth, tasting and savouring him before sitting up and wrapping his arms under Clint’s thickly muscled thighs, placing his knees over his shoulders. Leaning forward he places his hands solidly on the bed, bending the archer in half, able to sink his fat cock deeper inside. 

Clint groans at the change in angle, of Phil’s dick deep inside him, each thrust rubbing along that sweet spot inside him, and can’t help the shout as Phil starts to pound into him roughly. He isn’t going to last long like this, it’s too intense, toe curling in fact and he’s panting and moaning like a well paid whore.

He curses, and gasps out, “Aw fuck, I’m going to come!” There’s no stalling it anymore, impossible with the way Phil is fucking him. His whole body tenses up, muscles contracting, eyes clenched shut and head thrown back, he comes hard with a strangled moan.

Phil’s so close, fucking hard into wet heat, all sense of finesse abandoned in that primal rush to climax, Clint’s sphincter muscles clenching tight around his dick is almost painful. He drives into him hard, enjoying the too tight grip around his cock until it’s too much and he’s coming, spilling into the hot channel with the force of a freight train. He pants through his orgasm, shallowly grinding his hips and gently milking the last of it until he releases Clint’s legs to fall to the bed. Clint’s arms come up to wrap around him, one hand gently rubbing his back. 

Phil’s slumped forward, half his weight resting on Clint’s chest, and hums in pleasure, enjoying the afterglow of good sex and the soothing slide of Clint’s palm along his back. He lays there waiting for his pulse to even out. “If you don’t stop, I’m gonna fall asleep right here.”

“I’m not sleeping in the wet spot.” Clint protests, he can already feel Phil’s dick softening inside him.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t even notice after awhile.” Phil teases, but he’s already levering himself up, the air cooling the sweat along his skin, Clint is wonderfully warm.

“Uh Huh.” Clint’s smiling, he clenches his sphincter closed as Phil slips out.

Phil stands up. “I’ll get something to clean up with.” He goes to the bathroom, coming back with two warm, damp face cloths. “Here you go.”

Clint reaches up to takes his. “Thanks.” He’s still going to have to get up, he could keep the cum inside till morning, but it was probably best to get rid of it now. He wipes the cum off his stomach and cleans his cock off and sighs before sitting and rolling off the bed to the bathroom.

Phil pulls back the comforter and sheets to crawl into bed. He pulls them back again when Clint comes back into the bedroom, patting the bed in invitation. The archer smiles at him; amused but obediently crawls into bed. Phil wraps an arm around a strong back and pulls until the blond is curled around and half on his chest. “I love how warm you are.” Phil mumbles, Clint’s average body heat is about two degrees warmer than the average person.

“Mmmm, good.” He smiles, head nestled onto the crook of Phil’s chest and shoulder, completely content. Sleeping alone and waiting to come back over was going to be a serious effort in patience, because this is awesome. Fuck snuggling his pillow; snuggling Phil was the way to go.

“G’night” Phil hugs him in tight, a few strands of blond hair tickling his nose. Ethically and professionally this might not have been the best decision, but he doesn’t regret making it. Sure they were going to need to talk about stuff, figure things out, but hopefully this would last. Phil wanted Clint here with him; liked the idea of sharing his home with him. And maybe it was slightly possessive, but the idea of Clint with anybody else wasn’t even something he wanted to consider. Warm and happy, he drifts off into slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has commented and left Kudos, you guys rock!!!  
> I've started on a sequel to this, but I'm going to be mean to Clint again. :)
> 
> Hugs!!!!


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